


Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

by fionnabhair



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, season six au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fionnabhair/pseuds/fionnabhair
Summary: Season Six AU.  Dan comes up with a whole new way to manage Jane McCabe.





	1. One

It’s a bad moment when Dan realises just why literally everyone he works with thinks he’s fucking Jane McCabe. 

It’s not that he hates her.

It’s not _just_ that he hates her.

And it’s not even necessarily that it’s _her_ people think he’s fucking – there are enough idiots out there who find her attractive that it isn’t the humiliation it _could_ be (if the Post had written about his misadventure with Sophie Brookheimer, now _that_ would be humiliating…)

But that’s not the point.

If the world thinks he’s nothing more than Jane’s boy-toy, he’ll never have even a chance of getting the fuck away from _morning_ news.  No one will hire him for anything – at least, not anything requiring actual substance.

He’s not ending up doing puff-pieces for the website, no way.  But even if he stood up and declared to the entire studio that nothing was going on… no one will believe him.  He needed a way to show everyone it wasn’t true, a way to demonstrate to anyone who cared that his interests lay well and truly elsewhere.

Except… except maybe he already had.

Stevie had left him the copy of the Post, and it was all there in black and white.  Sure, it’s rampant speculation, and sure, Dan never thought he’d be publicly involved with someone described as _beefy_ , (though if Jane was behind everything else, he had to wonder…) but, really, it was the obvious solution.

Thanks to Ben Cafferty, among others, half of DC already thought they had something going on, and he’d already told a national television audience that he and Amy had had a… thing, back in the day.  Now that she’d dumped Buddy, that fucking cowlick, it would seem obvious – predictable even.

All she has to do is attend a few galas with him, look at him like he’s the best guy in the world and maybe let him kiss her every once in a while.  It’ll be easy.

It’ll be so easy that Dan wonders why it took him so long to think of it.

Now all he has to do is convince Amy it’s a good idea, and that’s the part he’s not so sure of.  They hadn’t exactly been speaking much – she’d only barely deigned to come have a drink with him, and even then she’d been weirdly subdued.  Normally, normally when he talked about himself for too long Amy would roll her eyes and change the subject, mocking his self-absorption as she did so.  But this time she’d let him go on and on and on, and he’d got the distinct impression (when he asked how her parents felt about her moving to New York) that she didn’t want to talk about _anything_ personal.

Which is why, if he’s going to get her to play along, he’ll need to twist her arm a bit.

So he texts her, saying CBS have some possible dirt on Selina and he wants to meet her to talk about it.  A threat to Selina will bring her running when nothing else will, and surprise, surprise, she agrees to meet him that very evening.

He’s pretty certain Amy doesn’t read gossip columns, so the bar he’s selected won’t strike her as unusual.  (It will strike her as obnoxious, because it’s where all the CBS stars drink… but she’s used to that).

While he waits for her, he butters up the group of twenty year olds at the next table, taking a selfie with them and pretending to be flattered by their attention.  When they seem sufficiently in love with him, he asks for a favour.  (It might not be necessary, but he’d rather have leverage than not – she might need just a _little_ push).

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks, and they all gleefully assent.  “I’m meeting my… I guess my ex, tonight and… well I’m hoping, I’m hoping she’ll give me another chance.  I messed up with her, a lot, but…she’s really special to me.  It would be great if… if it’s going well, if you could take a photo of us.  You know, for the memory.”

They coo and swoon and wish him luck (another man would find it adorable), and promise to do exactly that, the moment he gives them the signal.  (He loves twenty-year-olds – they make things so _easy_ ).  They’re all a bit giggly, and clearly they think he’s being _so_ romantic.

And then Amy strides in, and they give him the thumb’s up sign before ostentatiously looking away. 

She sits across from him, keeping her coat on and placing her phone on the table between them.  She ignores the margarita he pushes towards her and says, “So?  What is it?”

“You mean Selina?”

“Yes, I meant – why did you even call _me_ , surely it’s one for Mike?”

“Oh, it would be.  If there was an actual story.  Which, of course, there isn’t.”

“Of course?”  Amy says, eyes narrowed.  “Then why drag me all the way down here?”

“I don’t like any of the bars in the Bronx.”

“And they’re all better off.  But that doesn’t explain why – ”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Amy’s expression is so withering he feels like he’s aged a month or two, at least, just from having made eye contact.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing but the pleasure of your company, I promise.”  He smirked a little, to himself, because… technically, it was true.

“Insult me by lying like that again, and I walk out right now.”

There’s not even the faintest glimmer of a smile on her face, not even a trace of humour, (and there used to be), so Dan sighs and says, “Take your coat off and I’ll explain.”

“I’d rather keep it on, thanks.”

“And I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.  Sit back, relax, take a drink – it’s a long story.”

They stare at each other for what feels like an unreasonable amount of time, and then Amy caves (he knew she would) (she’s always liked margaritas).

“Fine,” she says.  “But since you’re the one who got me here under false pretences – ”

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.  Drinks are on you.”

“That was always the plan,” he says, and dives into telling her about Jane – how she was using him in an attempt to seem young and sexy, how she’d convinced the entire production team they were fucking, how she was manipulating the gossip columns to feed the rumours.  (He _didn’t_ mention the way they’d described Amy, since he wanted to keep her sweet).

“Okay,” Amy says, when he’s finished pouring the story out, “I get it, she’s a demon.  But if I’m supposed to feel sorry for you because someone’s finally noticed you’re a massive slut…”

“Come on,” he says, “If people think I just let her use me like that, no one will ever take me seriously again.”

“And that sure would suck, wouldn’t it?  You’ve never been ashamed to be a gigolo before.”

“Cute.  This is different.”

“Because it’s public and everyone knows?  How is that _my_ problem.   Just pick the stupidest member of your harem and pretend to be dating her until the rumours go away, it’s easy.”

Dan grins at her, Cheshire-cat style, and in even less time than he’d expected, she gets it.

“No.”

He doesn’t respond, and Amy repeats herself.  (She looks genuinely horrified too, which is kind of insulting).  “Dan, no.  Under no circumstances.”

“Circumstances have already occurred,” he points out.

“And because I was stupid enough to let you use me once, you think I’m going to knowingly sign up for a second… You are _un_ believable.”

“Come on,” he says.  “Let me buy you dinner a few times and pose for some selfies.  It’ll be fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.”

“Yeah,” he grins.  “I’d never make you watch Downton Abbey.”

He’s expecting her to snap back at him, but she just takes a breath and looks at the table.  “Don’t tell me you can’t find some airhead who’d be pleased to – ”

“Oh, I could,” Dan says, leaning back in his seat.  She still won’t look at him, and it’s starting to piss him off.  “But I want a story people will believe.”

“A ‘story’?  I’ve had enough of being a –”

“I bet you have,” he says, and her head whips up to look at him so fast it almost looks painful.  “But you’ll enjoy this.  Besides I know you’ve missed me – and, extra bonus, it’s not like _I’ll_ be telling the world you’re frigid.”

It was the wrong thing to say.  Jesus fuck it was the wrong thing to say. 

Amy’s face goes _still_ in a way he doesn’t like to remember, and Dan braces himself.  But all she does is pick up her drink and drain it in one long (worryingly long) gulp.

“Enough for you?”

“It was either that or throw it in your face, and I make it a rule not to waste alcohol on…  You know, next time you need a favour, maybe try being nice.”

“Because it’s _my_ fault you got it into your head to marry a scarecrow in a cowboy hat?”

“I’m leaving,” Amy says, trying to put her coat on, but clearly too angry to focus.  “Don’t call me again.  You’ve actually gotten worse, and I swear, I didn’t even think that was possible.”

While she’s gathering her things, Dan winks at the girls at the next table, and they get their phones into position. 

He comes round to her side, pretending to help her on with her coat, and when she finally turns to face him, he smiles.  “Amy,” he says, and pulls her flush against him.  “Just think about it.”

And then he kisses her.

It’s not, in truth, the best kiss he’s ever had.  Amy lets out an honest to goodness _squeak_ , but she’s either too surprised or too angry to actually participate, and it takes her a moment to even start pushing at his hold with her fists.  (But it might be worth it, if only for the faint taste of her he gets, a flavour all her own).

To an outside observer, it looks like a heart-melting moment of romance (especially the way he bends her back), which is what he’s relying on.  But he doesn’t push his luck, and lets her go after only a moment or two.

The slap he was expecting never comes, and she doesn’t even waste time arguing with him – just gives him one furious look and storms away.  Needing to maintain the illusion, Dan throws a few bills on the table and follows her, saying “tweet me,” to the girls.  (He loves being a celebrity at moments like this).

She’s already jumped in a cab by the time he catches up to her, and that… that might actually be for the best.  She’ll see reason eventually, he’s sure of it.

By the time he’s home, the girls have tagged him in the photo of him and Amy kissing – he favourites it and, predictably, gets a call from Page Six within an hour.  He spins them a sob story about how they can’t possibly print another story about him and Amy Brookheimer, he’s been trying to get her back for months, if they print anything he’ll lose her forever, and she’s the only woman he’s ever…

He’s very convincing.

He says enough to be pretty damn sure they’ll get a nice, prominent position in the next day’s paper – and Jane can go fuck herself.

All told, he feels very, very satisfied with himself when he goes to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning the Post has fulfilled even his inflated expectations, suggesting he’s broken Jane McCabe’s heart and thrown her over for the young girl he fell for way back when, before he was famous.

It’s delicious.  Jane’s obvious outrage only makes things better.  Stevie, admittedly, grumbles about it a bit, but he already thinks Dan is a scumbag, so who cares?  At least he’s finally shut everyone up.

He’s gone back to his office, to prep for the next day’s interviews, when he gets the call that Amy Brookheimer is at reception for him.  Which is just perfect – he hadn’t expected her to find out so fast.

One of the runners goes down to collect her – hopefully walking her up through the studio so everyone can get an eyeful – and delivers her to his office in reasonably good time.  When they open the door, Dan’s leaning back in his seat, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up; he wants to look effortlessly relaxed, because he knows it will piss her off.

She’s going to _kill_ him, and he might be looking forward to it.

“Ames,” he says, not having to work to sound sincerely delighted to see her.

“Shithead.  We need to talk.”

He rolls his eyes, but gestures to the runner that he can leave (and the fucking perv blatantly checks out Amy’s ass as he goes – not that she notices).  He’s expecting Amy to sit down before tearing him to shreds, but she keeps her distance, glowering at him. 

“Couldn’t go a whole day without wanting another taste, huh?”

“You did this,” Amy says, throwing a copy of the Post at him.

“Yeah.  I didn’t know you read… it’s a good picture of you too.”

“My Mom called me,” she says, sounding like she’s having to speak through gritted teeth.  “And so did Sophie, and fucking _Jonah_.  Even _Richard_ ’s ‘happy for me’ – because apparently, we’ve had this whole relationship that I know _nothing_ about.”

“You’ve never been all that observant.” 

“ _Fuck_ you, Dan, this is Teddy-level creepy.  I’m going to tell them what this really is, I swear, I’ll call up that stupid editor and tell him all about you.  And let me tell you, I’ve been through this before, I know what it’s like, I can get through it.  And I guarantee, you won’t.   No one wants to hire a fucking laughing stock.”

She’s almost trembling with anger, and when he stands up she, very deliberately, takes a step back from him.  He has to tread carefully.  “That’s a big threat.  And yet, you came here, to talk to me, first.”

“Just because ripping your balls off is my top priority doesn’t mean I don’t have others.”

“Sure,” he says, soothingly.  “That and… you want a way out of this that doesn’t involve… You can’t be eager to go through that again.  And you know, this can be good for you too, Ames.”

“It’s _Amy_.”

“That’s the hill you want to die on, really?”

She takes out her phone.  “I’m calling them – I’m calling them right fucking now.”

“Look,” he says, sitting on the edge of his desk.  (This will go better if he’s not looming over her).  “I meant what I said.  Don’t you want to _win_ your break-up?  Because believe me, if he has to see pictures of you with me, with, I don’t know, a just-fucked look on your face, he’ll know what a –”

“ _Shut_ _up_ ,” she says, and turns away from him completely. 

Jesus, did she actually _love_ Buddy Calhoun?  Has he broken her? 

Amy sits down on the sofa, burying her head in her hands, and for a moment there’s complete silence between them.  It’s the exact opposite of what Dan’s used to, and for half a second he genuinely _wishes_ Jane or Stevie or some other asshole will barge in and interrupt them.

But he’s not that lucky, and with Amy hiding her face, he’s the one who’s going to have to break the awkward moment. 

He sits… not beside her, but at the far end of the sofa.  Close enough to touch her shoulder, which he considers for a moment or two, before dismissing it.  She’s so rigid with tension she might levitate off the damn couch if he startles her.

“Look –”

“Why are you like this?”  Amy says, and thank fuck, she’s not crying.  (Not that tears would bother him – but thank fuck she’s not crying).

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume people have been saying some really unpleasant things to you ever since all of that went down.  The kind of things they always say to women in these situations.” 

“Like you give a shit,” Amy says, and for a moment, he gets a glimpse of what’s behind the mask she’s been wearing lately.  She might playact as the toughest woman in the world, but underneath… she’s softer than candyfloss, always has been.

“That bad?”

She looks at her hands, seeming to draw strength from avoiding his eyes and says, “It doesn’t matter.  It’s all over now.”

“And everyone assumes it was all your fault, because people are terrible.  Especially people who hate women, which is most of them.  But if you’re with _me_ , and everyone knows about it, then it becomes very, very clear that _he_ was the problem the entire time, and you were just a… bystander.  Because no one would ever believe I’d waste my time on someone who wouldn’t –”

“For the avoidance of doubt,” Amy says, “I’m not sleeping with you.  I don’t want to catch anything.”  (Okay, that’s the second time a woman has said that to him in three days, and it’s starting to piss him off).  “And furthermore, if I’m going to do this _stupid_ thing for you, there are conditions.”

He’s got her.

And so, Dan leans back, encouraging her to be expansive and open.  The key with Amy has always been to let her think that what she’s doing is her own idea.

“First of all,” she says, “You’re not seeing anyone else.”

“Well, not publicly – ”

“No,” she says, fiercely.  “Not at all.  You made this public, you painted a big fucking target on me for page 6, not to mention _everyone we know_ , so… I am not doing this, if the end result is people laughing at me.  Which they would, when the inevitable ‘cheating’ story breaks.”

“So, I’m supposed to just, what, have blue balls for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes,” she says, without a trace of sympathy.  “You’ll survive, you have hands.  Or, if you just can’t face it, I can always call the editor at the Post and tell him what a load of horseshit you just fed him.”

“Fine,” he says.  (It’s not like she’s ever going to know if he brings women back to his place).

“And, if I find out that you were lying to me, Dan, I’ll go fucking nuclear.  You dragged me into this when you didn’t have to – you could have chosen anyone – so make it hard for me, and…”

“All right,” he says.  “Is that it?”

“No.”  Amy takes a shaky breath and looks him dead in the eye.  “If I do this, I have to know something.”

“What?”

“You have to promise, and you have to _mean_ it, that you won’t _ever_ touch me without my permission again.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, “I wasn’t trying to… you weren’t doing what I wanted you to, so I…improvised.”

“Do you know what you sound like?” Amy says, and she looks stricken.  “It wasn’t because I wanted sexual contact with you, no, it was just to force you to do something I knew you didn’t want to do.  Jesus, Dan, I used to think there was at least one thing you wouldn’t stoop to.  Who even are you?  I mean, there are people I expect that shit from, but _never_ you.”

He needs a moment to take all of that in.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and for the first time in…decades, maybe, he means it.

“What?”

“You’re right.  I was out of line.”  He can actually _see_ her relax at his words, and it must have upset her more than he’d realised.  “Not that it’s an excuse, but I really didn’t think about –”

“You have no idea what it’s like to be small and felt up and grabbed by every drunken prick with a boner, I get it.   But don’t ever fucking assault me like that again.”

“I won’t,” he says.  “I really am sorry.”

He can’t have her feeling that way about him, thinking about him as a constant threat, and not just because it’s insulting.  Dan had seen how she was with Jonah whenever he crowded into her, how much she tried to avoid getting stuck alone with him, or having to deal with him one-on-one.  She’d confessed once, one night they got drunk, that it took a toll on her, having to think so much about it all the time.  “It’s _exhausting_ ,” she’d said, and he’d patted her on the back and made a mental to note to stand between her and Jonah from then on.

She can’t feel like that about him.  He couldn’t do that to her – it would be too depressing.

“Okay,” Amy says, and she looks like her old self again.  (So, still tense, but not so stiff that he’s afraid she’s going to damage her spine).  “You’re such an asshole.  There were much easier ways for you to get what you want, you know.”

“Yeah, but none of them would be as much fun.”

“Dan, I’m not fun, and I never have been.”

“Jesus,” he says, “that asshole really twisted you up, didn’t he?”

“And that’s the third condition.  We’re not talking about him.”

“But I want to know why – ”

“I care even less than I usually do about what you want.  I don’t want to hear his name ever again, least of all from you.”

“Least of all from me?  Why ever could that be?”

“Could you… stop being you for, like, a minute, and tell me how we do this?”

“It’ll be easy.  Everyone who knows us already thinks we’re fucking, so we just go places and –”

“Like I said, I’m not –”

“Have dinner, Ames, relax.  I meant what I said.  Or we can have drinks or hotdogs or fucking cupcakes if that’ll make you happy.  Whatever works.  And then we Instagram the shit out of it.”

“Fine,” she says, and picks up her handbag.  “Then I’ll see you on Friday.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Dan says.  “We might as well start now.”  He sees her look skittish, and adds, “You’re in charge of selling it – I’ll behave.”

She looks relieved, and he knows it was the right move.  He holds his hand out to her – and, after a second, she takes it, and lets him lead her out of the building.  (He takes his time, pointing out the details of the studio to her, and she looks sceptical about his bragging, and tries to smile when he introduces her to Stevie, and for her, that’s almost a bravura performance).

When Amy’s handed her guest pass in and they’ve walked to the door, Dan sees her realise that this is the first hurdle.  If she was his brand new, finally reunited after years of frustration, girlfriend, she’d probably throw herself into his arms right about now (though Amy throwing herself at anyone is hard to picture). 

She can’t do it – he can see her complete inability to do it in the lines of her body, and so, just this once, he decides to make it easy on her. 

“I’ll see you Friday,” he says.

Amy looks up at him (and he’s always loved the way her face tilts up to him, just so), and summons up some will power from somewhere, because _she_ kisses him.

It’s barely even a kiss, not really – just a soft press against his lower lip – but it’s more than he thought she’d be capable of this soon, (obviously, he’s planning to escalate things _eventually_ ), (there’s no universe in which he’d settle for an indefinite period of no sex, and he’s surprised she’d ever imagine he would), (but, just as obviously, not until she’s… comfortable with things).

She gives him a measuring look when she pulls back, and obviously doesn’t see anything that freaks her out too badly.  “Friday,” she says.  “Don’t fuck it up.”

And then she walks away. 

As far as everyone at CBS knows, Amy Brookheimer is his girlfriend now. 

Weirdly, he’s _really_ looking forward to it.


	2. Two

It’s not working.

It’s Amy’s fault, obviously.  They’ve gone for dinner twice and drinks once, in places where they will definitely be seen, and tweeted photos of the two of them smiling, and yet, still, somehow, no one seems convinced.  Jane has only stepped up her flirting with him, and the Post is openly speculating about the love triangle that will tear CBS’ breakfast show apart.

It’s Amy’s fault.

They’re supposed to be a couple, they’re supposed to _look_ like they’re a couple, but she won’t make it look right.  So long as they’re just talking, she’s fine, but the moment Dan tries to treat her like a woman he’s fucking, she goes still on him.  It’s a miracle that she doesn’t twitch, but it’s clearly an effort on her part.  He could really do without feeling like a sex offender every time he gets within a foot of her, and it doesn’t help that every time she comes to see him she’s dressed like a nun (actually, no, modern nuns show more skin).

And the part that’s driving him mad is…it _should_ work.  He _knows_ it should work.  They have a story, a believable one, and he never expected he’d have to fake chemistry with _Amy_.  Not to mention that it…it’s not like her to be this quiet.  Not that he misses her scolding him, but…she doesn’t even react half the time, and it’s fucking _weird_.  Amy’s never had small reactions to things, and holding them in like she is… it can’t be doing her liver any good.

Still, it’s her fault, and he tells her so when they meet up for the fourth time.

For once, she reacts like herself, rolling her eyes and saying, “I’m the problem here, really?  Explain that one to me.”

“You’re supposed to act like you’re my… like you actually like me.”

“And?” Amy says, taking a sip of her drink, and looking away from him, across the bar.  (He’d chosen this place on purpose, hoping that getting to try a dozen different types of whiskey would soften her up).

“And acting like you can barely tolerate having me touch you doesn’t exactly convey happy and in love, now does it?  Or did you think it did, and _that’s_ why your fiancé –”

“I’m not you,” Amy says.  “I can’t _fake_ it.  Which you know.  And you’re the one who picked me – if you were looking for an actress you could have found one, I’m sure you’ve fucked a few in your time.”

“Well obviously,” Dan says.  “But none of them like me as much as you do.” 

“Dan, if I’m the woman in your life who likes you the most… that may well be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, there’s my Mom.”

“Whatever.  You picked stiff and sexless and boring and prematurely middle-aged, and that’s what you got.”

“Yeah, I did,” he says, waiting for her to roll her eyes at him or glare or…or something.  But she only shrugs.

“I could have told you it wouldn’t work,” she says, not quite looking at him.  “And it has nothing to do with me.”

“Sure, it doesn’t.  Your total lack of acting skills doesn’t undermine anything.”

“ _I’m_ not the problem.  I could look at you like you hung the moon, and it wouldn’t convince _anyone_.  These people know you.”

“And?”

“And therefore they know that… even if I was, if _anyone_ was head over heels for you, actually loved you, it wouldn’t change _you_.  Not one bit.  You wouldn’t care.  You’ve been on that show for, what, six months now – you think anyone who’s known you for that long thinks you’re capable of caring about another person?”

“Oh, you want me to bring you flowers or something?” he asks, feeling stung.

“No dipshit, I don’t even want to be around you.  I could be with someone who would be _nice_ to me, or, better yet, _alone_.  But we said we’d do this, so… if you want it to be believable, _you’re_ the one who needs to change.  Right now you’re just giving her exactly what she wants.”

“Jane?  She’s so fucking angry with me she threatened to bring the bronzer girl back.”

“I hope she does,” Amy says, and for a moment he thinks she’s going to laugh.  (He hasn’t heard her laugh, really laugh, a _good_ laugh, since…that night in Nevada, he doesn’t think).  “You’re the one complaining that the Post is hyping some stupid ‘love triangle.’  What makes her look more, I don’t know –”

“Fuckable?”

She ignores him.  “Potentially taking you away from your _younger_ girlfriend, that’s her dream.”

“Please,” he says, “Like I’d cheat on you with –”

“In a heartbeat, you would, if you thought it’d benefit you.  Despite that sob story you sold, I’m not some twenty-year-old ingénue who doesn’t know you.  So, don’t look to me to fix this.  Maybe if you knew how to express actual human emotion… you know what, I’ve had enough, I’m leaving.”

And she knocks back her drink and does so, throwing a twenty on the table as she went.  (Dan was _supposed_ to pay for everything, the situation being his fault and all, but her feminist instincts died hard apparently).

He pays the remaining tab in a hurry and follows her – if he doesn’t fix it people will think she’s dumped him, and then it’s back to square one.

Fortunately, she hasn’t got far – she’s never really learned how to walk fast in high heels, which is a blessing.  (Oddly enough, she _can_ run in them, though it tends to turn into a skid if she has to turn corners).

“Why are you so pissed at me?”

“I have _so many_ reasons, Dan, pick one.”

“Like what?”

“Well, start with your whole personality and we can work our way up from there.”

“Because you’re such a joy to be around.”

“Never have been, never will be,” Amy says, and tosses her head before stomping away from him.  He would really, really like to just let her go, but it isn’t a realistic option, and so he catches her up.  She doesn’t even look at him, just continues her rant.  “You trap me into this – and you fuck it up because of _course_ you do – and then you complain to me that I’m the problem.  You’re so fucking _brazen_.  If I’m so awful, why did you pick me?”

“Because you were convenient,” he says, and immediately regrets it.  Not because she looks insulted – she _doesn’t_ , she just nods, like she was expecting it.  “And… look, it wasn’t just that.”

“Please.  Enlighten me.”

“I…I thought it would be nice.”  He feels like a moron.  “I’ve barely seen you.”

If he was expecting her to soften, he’s exactly and precisely wrong.  Amy gives him that smile she has that makes her look like she’s being tortured.  “Jesus, Dan.  Do you _ever_ know when to stop lying?”

“I’m not,” he says, indignant.  “You were gone for a year, and for some inexplicable reason I felt like seeing you.  Don’t worry, I’m over it.”

“You should have told them you were dating Jonah; that’d get rid of Jane.  And he loves to spend time with you.”

“Are you done being a fucking harpy?” Amy looks mulish, but doesn’t answer him.  “It’s my fault, I got you stuck in this, fine.  Help me fix it.”

“Selina thinks I’m fucking _braindead_ , you know, because of this.  She’s _disappointed_ in me.  She said I should wash myself with lye every time you touched me.” 

“For fuck’s sake, since when did I become Typhoid Mary?”

Amy shrugs.  “Women talk.”

“She’s just pissed that someone’s talking about you and not her.  And as if she has a leg to stand on, she was with  _Andrew_ like, a minute ago.”

“Being better than Andrew Meyer is not the ringing endorsement you think it is.  That should be the bare minimum to be acknowledged as a human being.”

“Do you feel better now you’ve got some of that out of your system?”

“Yeah, Dan, I’m just peachy.”

“Look,” he says, running his hands through his hair in frustration.  “The two of us, yelling at each other in the street and acting like strangers isn’t convincing anyone.  Especially when you get the subway home every night.”

“Oh no,” Amy says, “I’m not going to like this one bit, am I?”

“Come home with me.”

Amy _snorts_ with laughter then, but it’s not pretty, not real, there’s no…mirth in it.  She sounds _bitter_.  (And she was always so pretty when she laughed).  “Your pick-up lines have not improved with age.”

“That’s not what I mean, I’m not going to… you stay over, people see you leaving in the morning…maybe it works.  If you can stop acting like I’m toxic long enough to let me touch you.”

“That’s not –”  She cuts herself off when he moves closer to her, taking a step backwards.  “What are you doing?”

“Relax,” he says, crowding into her space even more (she never used to mind when he did that).  “Amy, I’m not going to do anything you don’t – I was a prick before, but I wouldn’t.  Ever.  You can relax.”

She shakes her head.  “No.  You don’t get it.  I _can’t._ ”

Dan tilts her chin upward with a finger, very careful not to touch her more than he needs to.  “Yes.  You can.  Trust me.”  He can feel her breath on the skin of his neck.

“You must think I’m a complete idiot.”

“If you were this would be a lot easier.”

“Fuck you,” she says, but doesn’t step away (so it worked.  Kind of).  “I want a drawer.”

“That’s moving fast, isn’t it?”

“I’m not carrying my life around with me once a week just so you can pretend this isn’t happening.  I’m your girlfriend, not an escort, so give me a fucking drawer.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he says (carefully not grinning).  “So, tonight?”

“No, I’m going home where I have a toothbrush and make-up remover and… no fucking dickbag weasel pissing me off with his stupid face.”

“Sounds dull.”

“Next week,” she says, “It’ll give you time to buy me a bed.”

He holds up his hands in resignation and watches her leave.  No fucking way is he buying her a bed. 

* * *

 

 

Amy brings a lot of… _stuff_ with her, that first night.

Which is fine, actually.  He doesn’t mind clutter, and it’s not like he ever spends much time at home.  But it’s still…strange, to go into his bathroom and find a woman’s hairbrush and a make-up kit and a box of tampons (he’s pretty sure Amy’s trolling him with that, so he decides not to comment).

They’d gone to some AIDS fundraiser the Meyer Foundation was running, and Amy had been… not in her element exactly, but focused and…intensely herself in the way she got when there was work to be done (he’s always loved it).  It was strange watching her work the room without him – she’d always made him do it when she could, but she’s better at it than she thinks.  She can be very charming when she’s not trying to be.

She’s still tense around him, and Dan gets it, he does – it’s one thing to maintain the pretence when they’re one-on-one, another entirely in front of Mike and Gary and Selina.  So he leaves her to her work, and tries not to look bored when Catherine corners him at the bar, telling him she’s so glad he and Amy finally made it work, and she hopes he won’t mind but they’ve found another sperm donor and she’s so looking forward to the magical experience of childbirth, it’s going to be beautiful.

(If there’s one thing Dan’s pretty sure of, it’s that Catherine’s a strong argument against the idea of heredity.  No one ever said Selina, or Andrew, was nice, but at least they weren’t _boring_ ).

Mike cracks a few jokes when they leave together, which makes Dan want to throttle him.  But Amy doesn’t become as self-conscious as he’d expected – she’s quiet, but not visibly stressed, which… he’ll take what he can get.

He had bought her a sleeping bag – he refused to sleep on the couch, as he wouldn’t fit, and he knew it was uncomfortable as hell.  (It was a relic of poorer days – he’d been meaning to replace it sometime).  If Amy had a lick of sense she’d sleep in with him, like he’d offered – but the moment he’d made the suggestion she’d laughed in his face and refused.

Which… fine.  He wouldn’t push her into sharing his bed even if he _was_ trying to fuck her, which he isn’t (yet) (well, not _really_ ).  But her categorical rejection gives him pause all the same.

“Look,” he said, “I meant what I said.  I’m not gonna –”

“I one hundred percent believe you, okay?” Amy’s wearing pyjamas and her face is scrubbed clean of make-up, and he can smell her toothpaste.  The way her Penn State tee shirt rises and falls with her breathing is incredibly distracting – she’s definitely not wearing a bra.

He doesn’t usually see women like this.  Oh, he’s fucked a fair few in his time, and he knows the lazy expression they get when they’ve been well-satisfied, but this… it’s like she’s _more_ than naked.  (She’s even got her hair pulled back in a long braid, a thing he’s never seen before).

“So, what’s the problem?”  He’s standing between her and the couch because… because it doesn’t make sense.

“I need my space,” Amy says, and he might even have believed her, if she’d looked at his eyes instead of his chest.

“You’ll be a pretzel in the morning,” he says.  It’s late, he hasn’t had much sleep, and he’s _irritated_.  She’s just being stubborn.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.  Be a fucking adult and –”

“Dan, I don’t _want_ to.  I’ll sleep, you’ll sleep, it’ll be fine.”

She’s lifting her chin in the way that signals the argument is over, and Dan bows to the inevitable.  “When you can barely move tomorrow morning, remember that I tried.”

“Sure,” Amy says, her mouth twisted.  “You’re a real gentleman.”

For one second, one painfully long second, he wants to crush her against him and shut her up, use his mouth and his hands and his cock to turn her _soft_ , the way she should be (the way she was, once upon a time).

Obviously, he doesn’t.  But the longer he looks at her, the more Amy starts to flush, like she can _hear_ what he’s thinking, and she doesn’t like it.  There’s something _fierce_ in her eyes.  “Well,” she says, “Good night,” and tries to push past him.

He lets her, of course, and if her breast brushes against his arm, he takes very good care not to notice.  But he also takes longer than he should to walk away.

It’s a relief, really, when, after he’s left the room, he hears Amy sigh.  “Fuck _everything_ ,” she says, and he’s inclined to agree.

* * *

 

 

Amy’s not operating on a morning news schedule, so she’s still asleep when he wakes up – and still asleep when he’s showered and dressed and has to walk past her on his way to the kitchen.  Much as he’d expected, she’s curled up in a rather odd position to fit on the couch, one hand tucked under her cheek, and the other hanging over the edge.  He can see the soft skin of her belly, exposed where her tee-shirt had rucked up around her ribs.  Not a damn thing about it is sexy, and still…he finds himself staring like a freak.

It’s lack of coffee, he thinks, and goes to rectify the situation.  He’s never been a particularly homey type of person, but he has eggs, and he thinks making Amy breakfast will surprise her, so he takes them out of the refrigerator and gets to work.

He’s halfway through when he hears Amy’s phone ringing, followed by a thump that strongly suggests she’s rolled off the couch.

He smirks to himself – and sure enough, a moment or two later, Amy joins him in the kitchen, looking disgruntled.  She has sleep marks on her cheek, and her hair is a mess, half-in half-out of its braid.  “Can I have one of those?” she asks, and he hands her a coffee mug.  She’s uncharacteristically conciliatory, and she can’t conceal her surprise when she says, “You’re cooking?”

“Yeah.  Won’t be long either, so… find us some forks.”

She rolls her eyes, but does so, opening each of his drawers in succession.  “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

“Because you’re an idiot.  You’re going to keel over and faint one day.  Did you sleep?”

“Yeah,” she says, and rolls her shoulders (and he looks at her chest, because…come on), “I’m just stiff.”

“Told you.  How big a bruise did you get from the floor just now?”

“Fuck off.  I hate morning.  And now I have to go to Qatar.”  She sees his look, and adds, “Someone died – someone vaguely important – and Selina’s the designated representative.  I have to meet her in La Guardia in, like, three hours – and I’ve got to pack.  I don’t know how I’ll –”

“I’ll drive you,” Dan says, and has the pleasure of seeing her eyes widen in genuine shock.

“I have to go home first,” she says.  “It’ll take a –”

“Why not bring your bag from here – you have basically everything already.”

“I’m going to a funeral.  In a Muslim country.  I can’t just – ”

“Please – you’re dressing like that anyway.”  Amy screws up her face, and he continues.  “But fine.  Saturday, remember.  It’s not like I have to go to work.”

“I guess,” Amy says.  “What do you even do when you’re not – you know what, I don’t think I want to know the answer to that question.”

Dan doles out the eggs, giving Amy the smaller portion (she still won’t eat all of it).  Watching Amy try to climb on to the stool by his breakfast bar is the best early morning entertainment he’s ever had – especially when she notices his amusement and scowls.

They don’t talk much – Amy is reviewing her emails and, if Dan’s any judge, mentally compiling a list of what she needs to pack.  (He’s tempted to make a joke about Sophie bringing her a change of clothes…but she might not take it well.  From one or two comments she’s dropped, he had the general impression they weren’t speaking much).

He’s struck all over again at the sheer…oddity of seeing her like this.  As long as he’s known her, Amy’s struggled with an odd…self-consciousness, but she’s sitting in his kitchen, the sunlight catching in her hair, stuffing her face and ignoring him.

He can count on one, no, two, hands the number of times she’s been this relaxed around him, and none of them since… _Buddy_ probably got to see her like this all the time, that useless fucker.

To his surprise, Amy eats almost all the eggs (she must not have noticed herself doing it), and she even thanks him for cooking (such manners).  Then she’s running into his room to get dressed and doing a rather brisk make-up job in the bathroom and demanding that they leave _right_ now.

He doesn’t see why she’s so stressed – she wasn’t like this when they were helping manage actual international incidents, but she just shakes her head.  Apparently, he doesn’t know how awful Selina can be (which…)

But he gets her to the airport in good time, and takes the case out of the back seat for her.  (There are always paparazzi around, and you never know… if it was a slow news day…).

They pull up behind Selina’s town car, and she lowers herself to greeting him (she’d been too busy schmoozing donors the night before).

He’d been handing Amy her case, and their hands are still touching – much to Selina’s apparent distaste.  “Glad to see you’ve moved on from Jane McCabe, Dan – but you couldn’t have done something about this while we were in the White House?”

“Excuse me?” Amy says (like she doesn’t know _exactly_ what Selina’s talking about).

“You would have been a lot easier to tolerate if you were getting dicked on the regular and weren’t so fucking tense – _and_ we wouldn’t have had to have Dan’s sex scandal in our crisis planning manual.”

“No, we would.” Amy says, and he rolls his eyes.

“Would you give us just a second, ma’am?” he says.

“Oh, take as long as you need.  Richard’s here to help.”

She really must have had a nervous breakdown if she’s relying on Richard for _anything_ – but Amy doesn’t seem remotely surprised.

He pulls her aside, because he has to know. “Does she talk to you like that all the time?”

“No,” Amy says, looking at him like he’s stupid.  “She’s worse.  She was being…better, because you’re here.”

“What the fuck?”

“It’s normal to be depressed after a heart attack,” she says, like she’s trying to shrug it off.  “My Dad was…you should have heard the things he said about Buddy.”

“Should I?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I won’t be doing that.”

“Anyway, what do you want?”

“I dropped you at the airport, Ames, isn’t that the shit good boyfriends do?”

She opens her mouth to retort, and then seems to think better of it.  “Again, what do you want?”

“Selina’s watching, you know.  Don’t you want to make it believable?  Prove her wrong?”

She tilts her head, eyeing him for a moment.  “Dan, do you… want me to kiss you?  Is that what you’re trying really hard _not_ to say?”

“It would look odd if you didn’t."

“You really do think everyone is watching you every moment of the day, don’t you?” Amy says, but she sets her case down, freeing up her hands. 

“Can’t blame them for looking.”

“Are you going to keep on being a dick, or do you actually want me to do this?”

“Well, that’s a difficult choice you’ve given –”

He’s cut off by Amy’s lips – ever so slightly parted – pressed against his, which… he’s not one to let an opportunity go to waste.

She’s stretching up to reach him and cupping his face in her hands, slightly unsteady on her tip-toes – so Dan all but seizes her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into him.  She gasps a little, and her tongue brushes his, a hint of wetness that…

Amy breaks the kiss – she’s close enough to breathe his breath, and her entire front is pressed against him, soft and curved and _round_ and…

She finally meets his eyes, and that’s it, that’s enough, they’re kissing again, Amy grabbing his collar and pulling, Dan bending so he can touch every _inch_ of her, so she can’t get away, chasing her mouth, because he can’t get enough…

She’s perfect.  Sugar and spice and fire and just enough actual _bite_ – he could do this forever and never get bored.  It’s so much better than talking, and lord knows, when it comes to Amy he could talk until the end of time.

It’s even better than he remembered, and it’s not like he hadn’t thought about it.

A cab driver honking at them is what finally breaks them apart, and Dan shouts right back at the prick (he was enjoying that).  Amy’s leaned her forehead against his shoulder, and he gets the feeling that she doesn’t want to meet his eyes.  He’s still got his arms around her, so he squeezes her waist, just a little.  When she finally pulls back and looks at him, he’s pleased to see that her usual sceptical expression has been wiped away – her eyes are wide and anxious-looking, like she’s looking for an escape, but she’s still leaning on him.  “Made your knees weak, did I?”

“You said you wanted it to be believable.”

“And _you_ said you couldn’t fake it.”

Amy bites her lip, and the great thing about having her so close to him is… he can _feel_ her retreat before she’s even moved.  He cups her cheek in one hand, and says the first thing that comes to mind (because she’s not fucking _hiding_ on him again, not after that). 

“I think I’m going to miss you.” He tries to sound sincere, but…he’s not very good at it.

“You are such an _ass_ ,” Amy says, and he can’t help it, he kisses her again. 

He lingers too long to be just a peck, and when he finally pulls away, she’s pink and suspicious, and, oh how he’s missed that look.

“I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Yeah.  We’ve got that charity thing next weekend, don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” she says, rolling her eyes, and walks into the airport.

When he sees Selina watching through the plate glass, he wants to cheer.


	3. Three

Amy’s trip to Qatar lasts longer than he’d expected – longer than she’d expected even.  Selina was clearly chasing popular acclaim, trekking back and forth between Qatar and Sudan and dragging her entourage with her every step of the way.

Dan would tell her to stop bothering, to sit back and relax and wait for the narrative to change – there’s no _appetite_ right now for good news stories about the Meyer Presidency (and he ought to know), but thank fuck, polishing that particular turd is no longer his job.  While CBS is far from being everything he'd hoped, at least he'd managed to escape that clown car.

Amy sounds frustrated and irritated when she calls him, like normal.  She times the call well, ringing him moments after his editorial meeting has broken up.  He winks at Brie and picks up.  “Hi sweetie.”

“Cut the crap.  I need to talk to you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Can you stop performing for a second and listen to me?”

“Sure I can,” he says, withdrawing his eyes from Brie’s neckline.

“I’m not going to be able to make the charity brunch thing on Sunday.”

“What?  Why?”

He’d been looking forward to having Amy on his arm for the brunch – as long as no one heard her talk, there was a good chance she’d make him look _wholesome_ …which he would freely admit wasn’t his usual image.

“She’s addressing a human rights conference on Saturday morning – my time – and then, well we’re flying back almost immediately, but –”

“So come straight to mine.”

“I don’t even know _when_ we’ll be landing, it could be late, and –”

“As long as I get my beauty sleep, I don’t give a shit when you get in.  I’ll leave a key with the doorman.”

“Dan,” she says, and she’s already starting to give in, he can tell.  “I’m going to be jet-lagged to fuck, I’m not going to be in any state to playact as the doting –”

“I don’t need you to.  I’m not fucking _Buddy_.  All you have to do is show up, look cute and eat some waffles.  You can let me do the talking.”

“Yeah,” Amy says, “Because there’s no way you’ll use that opportunity to invent some elaborate fiction.”  She sounds exasperated.  “You’ll tell the world I’m giving you my kidney or something.”

“Please, I know how much of a lightweight you are.  I wouldn’t take it if you paid me.”

“Not my point.”

“Stop being difficult,” he says.  “We both know you’ll wind up coming over, so –”

“You don’t have me on a string.”

“No.  But I can be _very_ persistent when I put my mind to it.”

“Fine,” Amy says.  “Just.  Fine.  On your head be it.”

“Love you too,” Dan says (since Stevie is within hearing).

“I hope you choke.”

She hangs up, and Dan doesn’t hear from her again, though she does text him early Saturday morning (his time) to say they’re taking off.  She doesn’t mention anything about the Conference, which surprises him – until he sees the reports of Selina’s speech.  Amy’s going to be spitting blood – all the more so because she’ll have to hide it.

It’s a quiet day – he goes to the gym and picks up his dry cleaning and buys in food for the next week or so.  He also talks to his mother for an entire twenty minutes – someone (who Dan is willing to bet is his brother) had told her about his ‘girlfriend,’ and she’s overflowing with questions.

He doesn’t want her to get her hopes up, so he keeps his answers as non-committal as possible, but she’s already planning his wedding in her head, he can tell.  When she finally realises it’s Amy, she seems oddly… surprised.  “The girl you interviewed with her fiancé?  The one who –”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And she’s dating you now?”  Mrs Egan would never admit her baby boy was less than perfect, but he can hear the doubt in her voice all the same.  “When not that long ago she was –”

“He’s not in the picture, Mom, and I’ve known Amy for years, it’s not what you’re thinking.  There’s been no overlap.”

“Oh, I know.  I always knew you had a soft spot for her.  And if you can cheer her up, who’s to say?  She looked so sad in that interview.”

“Well then she shouldn’t have wasted her time on –” 

The anger in his voice surprises him, but his mother ignores it, cutting him off before he can say anything too offensive.  “I’m just glad no one ever treated your sister that way.  And I’m sure she’s much happier now.  But you should be careful, Daniel.  If her engagement only just broke up, she’ll be… I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

He stifles a laugh, and does his best to assure his mother that Amy’s not rebounding with him, that her feelings are sincere, that he’s the one she’s always wanted and he’s at no risk of having his heart broken.  Only his mother would ever believe it was a genuine possibility.

He goes for a beer with a few buddies from college that evening, though more and more, he feels like an alien when he meets them.  They all have kids, or wives, or both, and their lives are so removed from his it’s hard to even pretend to be interested.  He gets talking to a woman after they’ve all left, and is very, _very_ tempted to try to go home with her… but Amy would realise immediately what was going on, and he doesn’t want to piss her off just yet.  (Not until he’s found a way to finally shut Jane up).  (He still gets her number though, because he can).

When he falls asleep, it’s with the contentment that comes of knowing he doesn’t have to get up until nine.  (He enjoys working in TV, he really does…but sometimes the early morning starts are more than punishing).

Perhaps it’s because he’s used to living alone that Amy’s arrival wakens him.  It’s just after one when she arrives, and he hears her talking to someone on her phone as she comes in.  He’d really prefer to stay in bed, but he needs to explain about the couch, so he levers himself up and stumbles in her general direction. 

She’s standing in the kitchen with her back to him, leaning against the refrigerator, cushioning her head on her forearm.  She speaks in a low voice.  “No,” she says, “The flight was fine, just long.  And it’s _Qatar_ , not…Afghanistan, I really was perfectly safe…  I just got home.  Okay, no, not home, that would have taken a lot longer.”  She pauses, and he can hear an irritated voice on the other end of the line.  “I’m in Dan’s, Dad.  … No, I don’t think we’re going too fast.  … I know you don’t like him, but… But I don’t _need_ someone to ‘take care’ of me, jesus, it’s the twenty-first century, I can…  Look, you don’t like Dan, fine, I get it.  And you didn’t like Buddy, which is also fine.  And you don’t like it when I’m alone, so tell me… what do you want?”

She sounds completely exhausted, Dan thinks, and while he’s sincerely proud that Amy’s Dad hates him just that much, the last thing he wants is to have a crying Amy on his hands at one a.m. (or _ever_ , if he’s honest).

But her Dad must know how to handle her, because a moment later Amy says, “I know you’re just worried.  But he’s really not why I’m… he hasn’t done anything, Daddy, it’s other stuff.”  She pauses again, and he hears her Dad say he loves her.  “I know.  I’ll let you know when I’m in DC again.  Goodnight.”

Once she’s hung up, she stands still for a moment or two, before finally slipping her phone into her pocket and raising her head.  When she sees him standing in the doorway, she jumps approximately four inches, clutching at her heart.  “Christ,” she says.  “How long were you there?”

She doesn’t seem upset at what he might have heard, just…startled.  “So, your Dad’s not my biggest fan.”

“No,” Amy says tartly.  “He’s not.  And ever since he had the heart attack, I guess he…worries more.  He was sure I was going to get bombed, and knowing I’ve come home to _you_ doesn’t exactly ease his mind.”

“You could tell him the truth.”

“What, that you’re using me in some fucked up game of chess with Jane McCabe, and I couldn’t think of a way out?  That’s not going to make him feel better – at least right now he thinks you like me.”

“You could say it nicer.  And you’re not a pawn, Ames.”

“Oh?”

“You’re my… you’re at least a rook.”

“Thanks,” Amy says, “That really warms the heart.”

She does look sad, he thinks, his Mom was right about that.  Sad and drained and as though she’s carrying a thousand disappointments on her back, and can’t face adding another to the pile.  Which, he’s going to – he’s definitely going to.  She’s not getting a thing out of this arrangement – other than sparing herself a certain amount of humiliation, which she’d never have been at risk of if he’d just left her alone.

She has to get something out of it.

“So,” Amy says when he doesn’t respond.  “There’s no couch.”

“I know, that’s why I came out – I’m getting a new one – with a mattress in it – it was supposed to be delivered today, but… there were delays or something.  I got you an air mattress.”

“How thoughtful,” Amy says, almost sounding like she means it.  “I’m going home, I’ll see you tomorrow at the thing.”

She moves to walk past him, and he puts one hand on her wrist to stop her.  “I had to search for that.  I blew it up and everything.”

“Dan,” she says, and her voice is pleading.  “I’ve been awake for…I don’t even know how long.  It’s midday tomorrow my time.  I need a _bed_.”

“Well then come with me.”  He tugs her slightly closer, so he can feel her breath on the skin of his shoulder.  He tilts his head backwards to indicate his bedroom.

“You know I can’t.”

“Find me that irresistible, do you?”

“Fuck off, Dan, I made myself clear that I wouldn’t –”

“I am capable of sharing a bed with a woman without an ulterior motive.”

“Since when?”

“That’s the best you can do, really?  You are tired.”  Amy closes her eyes for a moment, twisting her neck – he can barely see her face in the dim light, but he can feel the warmth she’s radiating.  If she were any closer she’d be leaning on him.  “Sleep here,” he says, making his voice warm.  “Have a shower, wash the flight off and sleep.  Don’t waste an hour fighting with a cab driver, just to –”

“Have you changed the sheets?”

He laughs out loud, and starts to pull her back towards the bedroom, his hand still wrapped around her wrist.  “This morning,” he says.  “But if there were cumstains, they’d only be from –”

“Stop,” Amy says, digging in her heels.  “Stop, I don’t want to know.”

He puts his hands on her shoulders and walks her into the bathroom.  “Everything’s just as you left it.  Try not to wake me up when you come to bed.”

She’s got the look on her face she gets when she’s actually grateful he’s pushing her around, making her be sensible – not that she’d ever admit it – and he leaves her to it.

He’s checking his twitter mentions when Amy joins him, dressed in her pyjamas and smelling of showerfresh skin.  (Given how covered up she’s been lately, he’s starting to develop a worrying fondness for those tiny shorts of hers).

She approaches the bed as though it’s a trap, and he tries not to laugh as she curls up on the other side, as far away from him as she can possibly get.  She may not want to take up space, but her hair disagrees, swirling out over the pillow, and he can’t help it – he reaches out and touches it, curling one lock around his finger.  When Amy looks over her shoulder at him, he shrugs and says, “It’s so long now.”

She turns on her back, looking up at him wearily.  “Short hair is too much work.”

“So how was Qatar?”

“Well, I had to learn the Arabic for morning after pill – that was fun.  It’s a miracle I wasn’t arrested.”

“Amy, are you cheating on me with a sheik?”

“Not for me, douchebag.  And thank god, it’s not exactly fun to take.”

So Selina _was_ sleeping with the Qatari ambassador.  Not that that information was of any use to him – Stevie would never let him air it without an on-the-record confirmation.  “I saw her speech.”

Amy took a deep breath and huffed it out.  “I know,” she said.  “I’m not disappointed, I’m not even _surprised_ any more.  I mean of course.”

“Well, yeah,” he says.  “She was trying to make a deal with someone, right?”

“Yeah, yet another deal that lasts for all of five seconds.  Fucking _eleven year olds_ , Dan, being held down, by their _mothers_ , and _cut_ ….when they should be… and she can’t even condemn _that_ , not if it’ll cost her anything.  I mean, I know you don’t give a shit, but –”

“Amy, come on.  Of course I care.  Women not wanting sex is not my idea of –”

“For fuck’s sake, can you just not be yourself for two goddamn seconds… forget it.”

She rolled on her side, away from him, and he hears a distinct sniff.  Uncomfortable with the silence, he touches her shoulder and says, “You’ll feel better when you’ve slept.”

“I’m too tired to sleep,” she says.

She sounds more petulant than usual, but he knows what she’s talking about – when the energy it would take to relax and will your body into sleep doesn’t seem to exist any more.  He’s hit that point once or twice in his career – usually at the end of a gruelling recount – and it’s a horrible feeling.

So, he goes to the bathroom and fumbles in the cupboard until he finds his ancient pack of sleeping pills.  He’d been prescribed them after London, but never used the full pack. 

He pours her a glass of water, and brings it back to the bed.  She’s still curled up, and Dan sits in the space between her knees and her chest.  Amy raises her head curiously when he shows her the pill.  “It’ll help,” he says.

“Is this a roofie?”

He gives her a look.  “You barely know what time it is – it’ll make you sleep.”

Amy prevaricates for a second, and then takes it from him, chugging the water down.  He watches the movement of her throat as she swallows, and then says, “You have to stop believing in her, Ames.  We’re all snakes deep down – you know that.”

“You only think that because you are.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs.  “And so are you.  It’s politics – there are no clean hands.” 

He’s tempted to tell her that he could be fucking someone else right now, and isn’t, because of _her_ , but she still looks miserable, so he takes the glass from her instead, putting it on the nightstand.  “You’ll feel better when you’ve slept,” he says, and kisses her forehead.

It’s almost worth it for the expression of pure shock on Amy’s face.  (Though at the same time – at the same time – jesus fuck he’s never done anything like that before).

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything, and by the time Dan has walked back round to his side of the bed, she’s turned her face into the pillow.  It’s possible he may have underestimated the strength of the pill he gave her, because in less than five minutes she’s so asleep he could slap her ass and she wouldn’t feel it.  (Not that he does).

It’s a relief.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up the next morning, he has a faceful of blonde hair.  Amy had moved during the night, and how such a small person can take up so much space he doesn’t know – she’s sprawled across the bed, one of her feet resting just above his left knee, and her hand flung across his chest.  She’s lying on her front, her face turned towards him, and he can see how she’s flushed with sleep.

The journey must have taken more out of her than usual, because she doesn’t even stir when he gets out of bed (which is good – he doesn’t fancy receiving an accidental kick in the balls).  He goes to the gym in the basement of his building, and grabs them both coffees on the way back. 

Usually he wouldn’t mind letting her sleep for as long as she wanted (or, as long as it wasn’t an inconvenience to him), but he knows Amy, and she’ll need at least forty-five minutes to get ready for the brunch. 

CBS encouraged all of its anchors to sponsor a charity – it made the company look like it had a sense of civic responsibility – and so he’d chosen a programme that gave music lessons to ‘at risk’ youth in deprived areas of New York.  He couldn’t claim to give an actual fuck about the charity, but all it required was that he show up and play a few songs on his guitar once in a blue moon, so he didn’t really mind. 

Amy’s rolled onto his side of the bed, her face still buried in the pillow, and she doesn’t stir when he enters the room.  It’s only when he sits on the bed, touching her back, that she gradually wakes up. 

“You didn’t jump this time,” he says, oddly pleased.

“Well, I knew it was you.”  He raises an eyebrow, and she adds, “I could…it smells like you in here.”

“That’s because I’ve just been to the gym.”

“Well, yes,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “But I meant before you came in.”

He hands her a coffee, and stands to go shower.  “We’ve got to leave in…just under an hour.”

“Right.  I don’t have to be fancy, do I?”

“No – well, maybe a little fancy.”

Amy nods her head – this is the kind of thing she knows how to do.  “Pretty not professional?”

“That’s what I had in mind.  All these fucking street urchins are going to be screaming about ‘why should I have to go to music classes’ and I’m going to point to my cute girlfriend and say that’s why.   It’ll do more to motivate them than any fucking college application stats.”

“I’ll do my best,” Amy says, looking at her phone. 

And she does – she wears some not-quite fifties style dress, and applauds when he gives his speech, and laughs at him when he tells the boys that ‘chicks dig guitarists’ and it’s the first time, the first time she’s managed to seem like his actual girlfriend in public.

She’s so pretty when she laughs.

The charity’s board members love her, even if she is checking her emails every two and a half minutes, and Dan almost (almost) asks her to go for a walk or something, so they can plan out their next move.  (But he doesn’t want to ruin her day or stop her smiling at him - at least, not yet - so he doesn’t).

Because she’s ready now – finally able to fake it well enough to be ready for the big leagues.

It’s time for her to meet the CBS news team.


	4. Four

CBS This Morning has been nominated for an Edward R Morrow award.  They won’t win – Dan knows this.  Morning shows never win these things.

But they still have to get dressed up and attend the ceremony all the same – though, as if to show further proof of contempt for morning shows, the ceremony is on a Wednesday evening – a cast-iron guarantee that there won’t be any late-night celebrations.

Amy had agreed to attend as his date with minimal (for her) eye-rolling, though she’d complained that all her gowns were in DC.  The logistics of her living situation bored him to tears, but in the end she’d had her mother post a gown to his New York address (since they’d be leaving from there) – and had groaned out loud when she opened the package.  Her mother had selected a green silk dress that did not travel well, apparently, and so Dan had dropped it to the dry-cleaners along with his tuxedo.

Amy was more settled now, he could tell, which was a relief.  She’d stayed over a few more times, and seemed to trust him enough to keep sleeping in his bed.  She still stayed as far away from him as she possibly could, but she also invariably migrated in his direction over the course of night, meaning they inevitably woke up entwined somehow, not that she knew that, as she was always still asleep when he had to go to work.

Having her so _close_ was starting to drive him crazy.

Maybe it’s just that he’s not fucking anyone else (well, not _really_ …) but it’s strange to think that he worked with her, for years, and somehow never made a proper move…  But at least, at least then she’d been buttoned up and professional, not soft and braless and mussed up – purely herself, smiling at him sleepily and brushing her hands against his skin (and okay, he _could_ wear a t-shirt to bed, but… he’s seen her looking, and he likes that).  In those half-awake moments when she lets go, lets him see her properly, she’s impossible to resist.  If only she had the courage to climb on, he’d let her do anything she wanted.

The way she watches him makes it worse.  It’s not a proper gaze, not even close – she half-meets his eyes, or hides behind her hair or her eyelashes.  He’d joked about it once, telling her to drink him in if she wanted, he didn’t mind her looking… and Amy told him to get over himself and kept her eyes fixed on her phone for the next forty minutes.

He keeps telling himself not to poke it, to let her keep things comfortable and calm and just be a buddy who has a few beers with her and lets her tell the truth about Selina… but he’s not exactly good at that.  The only thing that keeps him from starting a real fight is that he can see the slow and steady method is working – she wore an actual colour on their last official date, and she’s been kissing him hello and goodbye whenever they’re in public (though there’s been no sign of the forcefulness that flashed out when she grabbed him at the airport, much to his regret).

None of it was helping him keep his promise to her – and he had to admit that if she’d been any other woman, he’d have tried something by now… but she was Amy, and she’d said she needed to _know_ he wouldn’t ever… so she _had_ to make the first move.

It helped that there was a bored trophy wife who lived in his building and would fuck him occasionally – usually after he’d run into her at the gym.  If he tended to run into her at the gym immediately after each night Amy had stayed over, well that was his business.  It’s not like she had much else to do with her time.

But it didn’t really help.

She was hot, he supposed, and a good fuck was a good fuck, but she wasn’t _Amy_.  Her moans in his ear were fine, but interchangeable with every other moan he’d ever heard.  She wasn’t who he _wanted._

Which is probably why he ends up jerking off the day of the awards ceremony – since Brie and Jane needed time to dress, they’d all been sent home early, and Amy hadn’t arrived with his tuxedo yet, though he could smell her on the sheets.

It’s too good an opportunity to miss, and he took his time… which was, well not an error, as things turned out, but perhaps a misjudgement, because Amy interrupted him.

It’s partly his fault, for getting lost in the moment and not hearing her, and partly Amy’s, for not knocking.  Either way, she banged his door and marched in, dry-cleaning folded over her arm, which she promptly dropped, with a small squeak.

This wasn’t how he imagined this happening, but beggars can’t be choosers, so when she turns to leave, he clears his throat and says, “You should pick that up.”

“What?” Amy’s staring at the floor and she looks not pink, but _red_.  (His hand speeds up, he can’t help it).

“Don’t leave my tux on the floor, Ames, pick it up.”

“Right, yes, I, I…I will do that.”  She goes to hang the garment bags on the back of his door and he shakes his head.

“On the wardrobe, they’ll fall off the door the first time you close it.”

“Right,” she says, and walks around the bed – when she’s hung the dress and tuxedo up she shoots him a look, to see if she’s fulfilled his demands, and, perhaps inevitably, her gaze slides south for half a second before she looks away.  “I’ll just…leave you to it,” she says, stumbling over her words.

He’s enjoying himself now, and he keeps his eyes on her as he says, “Why would you do that?”

“You know…privacy.”

“But I like having you here,” he says, and pauses for a moment.  “And I know you like what you see.”

“Please,” she scoffs.  “It may be a shock to hear, but not everyone is as in love with your dick as you are.”

“I’m not talking about everyone – I’m talking about _you_.”  Amy bites her lip, glancing at his crotch again and looking away.  “I want you to,” he says, hoping the roughness in his voice will convince her.  “It’s better when you’re here.”

Amy takes a breath, like she’s about to say something, and then clearly thinks better of it (and seeing her stand there with her mouth open would have him laughing in any other context, but right now…)  “Okay,” she says, sounding dubious.

She’s not sure of herself, not at all, he can tell, and so he holds his other hand out to her, beckoning.  “Come here,” he says.

She takes his hand, and that’s how she ends up pressed against him, his arm tight around her, her breasts crushed into his side and her head on his shoulder, all while he rubs his dick.  When he feels her relax into him, he bends his head and kisses her and she responds…and oh how she responds, pulling his face closer and moaning slightly when his tongue touches hers.  She’s soft and warm and sweet – all the things Amy never is and always has been, the side of her she keeps hidden away – and when they finally break apart he kisses her jaw and her neck.  When he bites, just a little, he sees the hairs on her skin stand up, and she squirms slightly, trying to push herself closer.

Egan’s still got it.

He takes his hand off his dick to pull her properly on top of him, and they make out, slow and leisurely, his hands skimming over her ass and sliding under her skirt.

They really _don’t_ have time for this, and he really doesn’t fucking care.  He’ll happily miss a dozen awards he won’t win to have Amy crushed against him like this, her mouth plastered to his (an award he _would_ win might be a different matter of course).

They break apart, and she’s breathing heavily, gulping air in as he brushes her hair away from her face.  She shifts slightly, and laughs.  “I interrupted you, I should really leave you to –”

“Don’t you _dare_.”

“I…” she swallows.  “Do you want me to –”

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” Dan says, and rolls them.  A moment later he’s settled between her legs and she’s got her fingers wrapped around his cock.  It doesn’t take her long, and in only a few minutes he’s buried his face in her shoulder, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

When he finally raises his head, Amy isn’t looking at him.  She’s staring up at the ceiling, her gaze rather fixed, and when he kisses her… she lets him, but she seems distracted.

“I have to shower,” she says, cramming her words together all in a hurry.

“You and me both,” he says.  “We could go _together_.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’d make it worth your while – I _promise_.”

“No, Dan!” she says, and then she’s pushing him off her, exerting more force than he would have thought she could, and all but running for the bathroom.

He lets her go, and lies back on the bed, feeling very well satisfied with himself.  Sure, he’d only fucked her hand, but…it was a start. 

* * *

 

 

 

If he’d hoped to progress things further with Amy, her demeanour as she gets ready makes it clear he was being extremely over-optimistic.  By the time he’s showered, she’s taken her make-up bag out to the living room – the light is better, apparently.

Since he’s not in a hurry, needing only to do up his tie and his cufflinks, he comes and sits beside her, watching her single-minded focus on doing her eyeliner with some amusement.  When she’s finished her gaze flutters across to his face for a moment, and that’s all the cue he needs.  He bends his head and kisses her shoulder, trailing his lips upward along her neck, flicking his tongue across her skin to get a taste of her.

“You know,” he says between kisses, letting his hands drift to her hips.  “We could just skip this stupid thing.”

“And miss the opportunity to convince those assholes once and for all?  No.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather – you didn’t get to –”

“One hundred per cent,” Amy says, not looking at him.

“But Amy, you know I’d like…I’d really like to return the favour.”

“Sure you would,” Amy says, clearly not believing him.  She’s so _stiff_ , it’s like holding a mannequin, and the more he touches her the worse it gets, so he takes his hands off her.  “That doesn’t mean I want you to.”

“I didn’t _make_ you do anything,” he says after a moment, feeling stung.

Amy starts rooting through her make-up bag, looking for something, not looking at him.  “I’m not claiming otherwise,” she says.

“So fucking _relax_.”

“I’ll do my best,” she says, “But I can’t _do_ this with you all over me, so… could you just say whatever awful thing you’re going to say to me and get it over with?”

“What, like pointing out just how much you _liked_ having me come on your skirt, is that what you mean?”

The fixed expression on Amy’s face... wobbles for a moment, but if anything she seems to relax, just a little.  “Something like that,” she says.  “Now, if you want me to be your fucking doll-eyed girlfriend, leave me the hell alone so I can prepare.”

Which is what he does, though it’s a close-run thing – having a proper _fight_ with her is much more appealing.  She lay down next to him, she stuck her tongue in his mouth, she reached for his cock… she chose every single bit of it.  She doesn’t have to be a heinous bitch over one measly little handjob.

When she’s finally dressed, she looks amazing, the dark green of her dress setting off her blonde hair and creamy skin – and he’d tell her so, but if she’s going to ignore him anyway, he doesn’t really see the point.  She even flinches when he puts his hand on her lower back to steer her out of the apartment.

This must be how Jonah feels around women all the fucking time.  It’s horrible.

Their uber is waiting for them at the door, and Amy immediately hunches over in one corner, hands clenched around her clutch bag like it contains the nuclear launch codes or something.  It’s not going to work.  Stevie and Brie and the others will take one look at her and know something’s up.  No woman in a healthy, happy relationship looks like that (there’s a reason he knew she was never going to marry Buddy the string-dick after all).

“You gotta _relax_ , Ames,” he says, letting his arm rest on the seat rest above her shoulder.

"I'm trying."

“Yeah, I can see that.  Which is kind of my point.”

He lowers his hand, and cups the back of her neck, which startles her enough that she finally meets his eyes.  It’s the same look she had at the airport, wide-eyed and anxious, like a deer caught in a gun-sight, and Dan realises he hates it.

He shifts closer, so he can rest his forehead against hers – that way she _has_ to look at him.  “It’s going to be fine,” he says (though it won’t be, not if she doesn’t lighten the fuck up).

Amy shakes her head vehemently, as though he doesn’t have any idea how not-fine things are, and he grabs her hands to try to calm her down.

She’s shaking.

She’s actually fucking shaking – and she didn’t want him to see, that’s why she was holding on to her purse for dear life.  “Jesus, Ames,” he says, “Jane McCabe is a bitch, but nothing you can’t handle.  There’s nothing to be _scared_ of.”

She laughs a little, and looks at him almost fondly.  “You’re an idiot,” she says.

“Oh, am I the one frightening you?”

“Get over yourself,” Amy scoffs… but he can see the truth in her face.

She’s afraid of him.

She’s afraid of him and…and while on some level it’s gratifying – she’s afraid because she _cares_ , because he _can_ hurt her – it still makes him feel kind of sick.  Because, suddenly (or maybe not suddenly, maybe he’d always known, somewhere) it all makes sense.  This is why’d she run the fuck away with the first cunt-struck moron to offer – why she’d ignored his calls and his texts and basically ghosted him (usually _his_ move) – why she reacted to his touch like it was a threat.

Usually, usually he liked the idea of women being nervous around him, of having _power_ over them – he’d always loved that he could turn Amy all pink and skittish, taken a kind of pride in being able to make her _girly_ , even when she didn’t want to be.

But this, this was something else.  The way she’s folded in on herself, it’s like she’s expecting him to _hit_ her.  She didn’t used to go _still_ , she used to fight right back, but…since Nevada…

For a whole thirty seconds he wishes he’d never _met_ Sophie Brookheimer – wishes he’d listened to the decent five per cent of himself – wishes he’d just told Amy what he wanted to begin with… But he did meet her, and he did fuck her, and since he’d made sure Amy was well aware of that fact there was no point in apologising now.

If he doesn’t play his cards right she’ll run even further.

So he squeezes her hands and waits for her to stop trembling.  (He’s not going to _mention_ that she’s trembling, because it’ll just make things worse).  “Jane is going to _hate_ you,” he says, and what he means is…she'll be fine. 

Amy gives him a shaky smile, and he gives into his instincts and kisses her, cradling her face in his hands, and stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.

It doesn’t make her any less tense, doesn’t make her relax…but _he_ feels better. 

* * *

 

 

 

The awards ceremony is at some overly sleek hotel way out near the UN – the kind of place that compensates for its boring location with a lot of plate glass.  There are just enough famous people attending that there’s a small bank of photographers outside, and he and Amy pose for them, Dan laying his hand flat against her hip and pulling her close to him.  (He knows the photos almost certainly won’t be used, but…just in case).

She hates it, he can tell, so when they’ve finally made their way past the cameras, he takes her hand and pulls her over to the rest of the CBS This Morning crew.  She smiles and nods and if she’s a little more stilted than he’d like, well… maybe that was inevitable.  (He probably should have waited till the _end_ of the evening to fuck her…but once she’d walked in on him masturbating all bets were off).

Brie looks Amy up and down in a distinctly measuring way, and compliments her dress (which is ludicrous – Brie is wearing some wispy lace thing that makes her look like a film star, whereas Amy…Amy looks every inch the uptight DC politico).  But it’s when Jane arrives that Dan’s stomach changes.

She sails up to them, stately in black, and pointedly kisses everyone’s cheeks before turning to Amy to be introduced (and even then, not before engaging in a three-minute conversation with Brie’s fiancé about the Lakers’ probable chances).  When Dan presents Amy, her eyes widen.  “Well, well, well,” she says.  “Dan’s pint-sized girlfriend.  I have been looking forward to meeting _you_.”

“Of course you have,” Amy says.  “Anyone who can keep him in line has to be worth the effort.”

“And how ever do you do that?” Jane’s tone is dripping with innuendo.

“Oh,” Amy says, looking up at them both with an expression that shows she knows exactly what Jane is implying.  “It’s a permanent exercise in managing expectations.  But I’ve known him long enough that… I’m almost sure he can’t get _worse_.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure,” Jane trills, winking at Dan.

“Well, I admit, I didn’t expect he’d admire you _quite_ so much, but it’s like he always tells me – there’s _so_ much to be learned from an _old_ pro.”

Amy’s not trying to sound sweet, not trying to sound _nice_ , and oh, he doesn’t care, he’s never wanted to fuck her more.  Jane is momentarily startled, but recovers fast, covering with, “Well don’t worry sweetheart, I’m happy to help.”

She rejoins her date – some chinless prick from the New Yorker – and Dan can’t help himself, he whispers in Amy’s ear, “Looks like Buddy, doesn’t he?”  He’s pleasantly surprised when Amy gives a little snort of laughter, and so he adds, in a murmur low enough that only she can hear him.  “That was… that was _hot_ , Ames.”

She rolls her eyes.  “I basically got into a catfight over you – of course you thought it was hot.  That was the most degrading thing I have ever – ”

“We both know it’s not even close.”

“You owe me, Dan.  So, _so_ much.”

“I’ll happily pay you back any way you like sweetheart.”

He’d hoped to make her smile or slap his arm or something, but she just withdrew her gaze, seeming to shrink right in front of him, and…fuck it, this one step forward two steps back thing is beginning to piss him off.  But she’s blushing, and that has to be a good sign, so he lets his mouth graze her ear as he says, “Whatever could be on your mind?"

Amy shakes her head, glowering at him.  “Get that look off your face.”

“Find it distracting, do you?”

“You look like a fifteen-year-old who just grabbed a boob for the first time.  Grow the fuck up.”

She grabs his hand and yanks, dragging him behind her as she searches for his table, and this, this is the Amy he remembers, putting her head down to barrel through the inevitable.  She sits beside him and lets him put his arm around her, though she can’t seem to stop herself from tensing every time his hand brushes her skin.  At least she’s not wringing her hands.

They don’t win the award, of course, though Jane is recognised for a special lifetime contribution to broadcast journalism (also of course).  They have to smile and look happy, and, since they’ve got a show on, they can’t even drink – not that it stops Amy, she drinks enough for both of them.

It’s about two thirds of the way through the evening when Amy’s phone starts vibrating in her clutch bag, and she takes the opportunity to disappear to the bar (looking irritatingly relieved to do so).  Dan might not like it, but he can’t exactly blame her – Jane had been asking poking little questions and Brie kept looking at Amy like she was an exotic creature and…it was the kind of night that would be wearing even for someone who _liked_ schmoozing, and Amy loathed it.

Brie’s fiancé had left – an early training session or something – and Jane was being congratulated by all and sundry…so Dan settles in and takes the opportunity to flirt.  It’s not that he thinks there’s more to Brie than is implied by a degree from American University – he’s seen her reports, he knows there isn’t – but…she’s too good-looking for him not to at least try.  Maybe if Page 6 think he’s fucking someone _else_ on the programme...

It’s the best part of twenty minutes before he realises Amy hasn’t come back, and when he looks for her, he sees why.  Jane has her cornered, and he can just imagine how that conversation is going.  Brie raises an eyebrow and says, “I think you should go rescue your girlfriend.”

Which…yeah.  If Amy said the wrong thing the whole ruse would be exposed, and she’d had enough to drink that Jane might catch her off guard (Dan knows, better than most, that Amy loses her inhibitions when she’s drunk).

So he abandons Brie and walks to the bar, in time to see Amy knock back a shot of whiskey.  Jane sees him coming, and grins at him.  “Your Amy is _delightful_ , Daniel – wherever did you find her?”

He decides to play along – for now.  “In the Capitol cafeteria, at seven in the morning.”

Amy rolls her eyes.  “He pretends that’s why he noticed me.”

“You did kind of stand out, you know?” he says (which was true, actually).

“Whatever,” Amy says, and she’s more loose than he’d expected.  “I knew you were just making fun of me – no sane person tries to flirt at six am.”

“You’re not cut out for morning news sweetheart,” Jane says.  “That’s half the job.”

“Then he’s a natural,” Amy says.

Jane nods and laughs and leaves them with a look on her face that he doesn’t like, not at all.  He edges closer to Amy, who looks genuinely morose.  “Why are you hanging out back here?”

“I had to talk to Candi Caruso.”

“Oh, I remember Candi – you know she’s a natural blonde?”

“You know…of course.  Or course.”  Amy slumps further in her stool, not looking at him.  “We’re scheduling the portrait unveiling – and she fucking congratulated me.”

“On your sexy new boyfriend?”

She snorts.  “No.  Dan, you just told me you slept with her – so I can guarantee, she thinks you’re pondscum.  Apparently, she never thought Buddy was good enough for me, because Candi fucking Caruso always knows best… why does everyone have an _opinion_ , and why does everyone have to talk about him?”

“Everyone?” He has a bad feeling.

“Yeah, your witch woman had a million questions, she wouldn’t back off.”  He’s not sure what to make of that, but Amy finally meets his eyes.  “Do you mind if I leave?”

It’s barely nine o’clock, but who cares – he’s got a show in the morning, and he doesn’t fancy sticking around much longer.  “Sure,” he says, “I’ll come with you.”

Which was the right thing to do, because Amy, when she stands, is wobbling on her heels – he’s not seen her this unsteady since…since they went for drinks before the convention, and he’d had to all but lift her into a cab then (he’d made a note never to let her buy a fifth tequila shot again).

They stop by the table to reclaim Dan’s jacket, and Brie decides to leave with them – she’s not enjoying the Jane McCabe praise parade any more than he is.  They chat about the next morning’s show and which segments might get dropped, and Amy, sensibly, seems to be ignoring them and concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

They’ve just asked the doorman to get them two cabs when they’re interrupted by a voice saying, “Amy?”

It’s Ed Fucking Webster, the sentient set square, because the whole evening hasn’t been awkward enough.

He’s standing with a tall, red-headed woman who looks vaguely familiar, and who Amy obviously recognises, because she greets them both.  “Ed – Vanessa.”

“It’s great to see you,” the woman says, “Ed mentioned you’d moved to New York, but we didn’t expect –”

“What a small world,” Amy says.  “You’re here for the UN?”

“Well, she is,” Ed says.  “I’m just along for a few days in New York – meet some donors.  But how are you, Dan?”

“Fine,” he says.  He still can’t stand Ed Webster or his stick insect face.

“I’m glad you two finally made it work,” Ed says (he must have worked it out from the way Amy’s leaning on Dan, blatantly using him for support), and something in Brie’s face twitches.

“Finally?”

“Oh, when we dating,” Ed says, “He was always Amy’s first text, the first person she’d call, and –”

“Ed, I told you, I never –”

“No, I know,” there’s something placating in Webster’s tone, and for a moment Dan wonders if this is an argument he and Amy had had before.  “But he did get drunk and glare me at all the way through our first proper date – no offence, Dan, but it sent a pretty clear message.”

“I would have liked to see that,” Brie says.

Thankfully they’re interrupted by the doorman announcing their cabs before Dan has to kill anyone, and he shepherds Amy out the door before she can even respond to Ed’s suggestion that they get coffee (over his dead body) (besides, Ed’s engaged to this Vanessa now, it looks like, so he can back the hell off).  Brie looks far too amused by the whole thing for his taste, and all in all, it’s a relief when they’re in the cab – especially as Amy leans her head back and closes her eyes, not saying a word the entire trip.

She grumbles when they arrive at his building, but he can’t tell (and doesn’t care) if it’s because her feet hurt, or because he insists on steadying her, or because she’d wanted to go home to her own apartment.  She’s too drunk to go home alone anyway (he tells himself).

She’s distant the whole time she prepares for bed, lost in her own little world of miseries, and it takes her a minute to notice that he’s put a movie on.

It’s partly that he’s not tired enough yet to sleep, and partly that it’s ridiculous Amy’s never seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, and partly…partly something else.  When she finally clocks what he’s doing, she gives him a disgruntled look.  “I want to sleep,” she says.

“It’ll be better if you sober up a little first.”

“By watching some crappy –”

“First of all, Raiders is not crap.  You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever seen it.  And you’ll enjoy it.”

“I can’t even _see_ it,” Amy says, annoyed.  “It’s on _your_ side of the bed.  Who puts a TV on the side of the bed?”

“It’s where the plug was,” he says, and shifts so he can stretch an arm out.

“Are you really going to make me watch this stupid film when all I can see is your shoulder?”  She’s complaining just to have something to complain about, but he doesn’t care, she’s given him an opening.  “Why are you so damn big anyway?”

“We can’t all be tiny little hobbit people,” he says.  “And no, I don’t.”  He pulls her against him, and while she makes a faint…surprised noise, she doesn’t fight him or stiffen, just mutters that he’s an asshole and she’s probably going to catch something and rests her head on his chest.  She squirms a little, trying to get comfortable, and that’s…a test, but he passes (just).

He _needs_ her to relax around him.

So he strokes her shoulder with his thumb and feels her breathing slow.  There’s an inch of exposed skin between her shorts and her tee-shirt, and it could be incredibly distracting if he looked at it – so he doesn’t.

They’re five minutes in and Indy is running from the Hovitos when Amy says, “My Dad never let us watch these.”

“Really?”

“Yeah – too violent – too much blood – no positive female role models.  The usual.”

“Marion _should_ have been your role model… and Indy’s a hero.”

“If you think that he probably kills puppies or something.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but just squeezes her closer to him, and miracle of miracles, Amy lets him.  Her eyes are closed when she says, “Please don’t ever make me go to one of those things again.  What a fucking wretched night.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, only somewhat agreeing.  (If she’d let him give her an orgasm beforehand the way he’d _wanted_ to, she’d be in a much better mood.)  “What was that, with Ed?”

Amy keeps her eyes on the screen, where Indy is fighting the Nazis who tried to kill Marion.  “Oh, he used to think I… to think I’d cheated on him.”

“Oh _really._ I assume he meant me?”

She continues as though she hadn’t heard him.  “Only he never actually said that, no, he never came out and _said_ anything, it was all just ‘Dan’s texting you a lot _lately_ , isn’t he?’ like your pathological need for attention was my fault.”  She sounds disgruntled as she continues.  “He was always so…passive.  The damn size of him, you’d think just once he could have said what he meant, but _no_.  As though I would ever.”

“And that Vanessa?”

“An old ‘friend’ of his who works at State – I always knew there was something there.  Why?  Were you hoping to find out if she’s a natural redhead?”

“Watch the movie, Ames,” he says, not trusting himself to take the bait.

And she does, curling herself more firmly around him – because she’s drunk, and miserable, Dan thinks, and it’s probably been months since someone _held_ her who didn’t make her skin crawl. 

“I know why you like this movie,” she says, when they’re about an hour in.

“Oh really?” he twists his neck to look down at her, but she’s focused on the tv.

“He’s a good-looking asshole who’s a dick to his ex-girlfriend – he’s you with the ability to look good in hats.”

Only Amy could make a comparison to Indiana Jones sound insulting.  “Want me to get hold of a leather jacket and a whip?”

“Please,” she says, still watching the film.  “It wasn’t a compliment.  You would totally abandon me to the Nazis the first chance you got.  You’d probably pat yourself on the back for being so slick.”

It’s a ridiculous argument, but _still_ … “I’m not the one who buys into all that greater good crap.  If anyone’s doing the abandoning, it’s you.”

“Whatever – we both know dumping women in snake pits is basically your favourite hobby.”

Dan should really argue the point because…come _on_ he does have some standards, but Amy sounds sleepy, and however much she insults him, she hasn’t _moved_ , still all warmth, wrapped around him, and if he pisses her off that might change.

She’s asleep ten minutes later.  He wonders if she knows that she snores when she’s drunk.

He doesn’t make it to the end of the film.

* * *

 

 

 

When Dan was still getting used to the demands of the morning news schedule, he’d set a number of alarms on his phone.  There was his usual alarm at five am, his ‘no seriously, get up’ alarm at five fifteen, and the final ‘are you fucking kidding me, you have to leave _now_ ’ at five thirty.  Normally the first one is enough, but he still set them all each night…just in case.

Which was a good instinct, because it takes him two, maybe three minutes to wake up the morning after the awards ceremony, and the main thing that wakes him is Amy poking his shoulder.  She’s still got her head buried in his chest, and one leg draped over his hip, but he can hear her muttering at him, telling him to wake up, he has to leave and she wants to sleep, and he’s an asshole for making her stay when he has alarms going off all the fucking time.

He can’t take it anymore – he rolls them so he’s on top of her, and seeks out her hot mouth with his own.  She can’t complain when he has his tongue in her mouth (though the way she fights him for control of the kiss, she’s clearly trying).

It takes a minute or two, but eventually she arches her back so that she’s pressed more firmly against him, and runs her hands through his hair, angling his head so she has more control.  The faint scrape of her nails against his scalp is almost too much… and Dan breaks the kiss, pulling her lower lip between his teeth as he goes, and lets his mouth, his open, wet mouth, wander over the sensitive skin of her neck and ear.  When he slides his hand under her shirt and runs the ball of his thumb over her nipple, Amy audibly gasps.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m hungry,” he says, “And you never let me…pay you back.”

She’s shifting beneath him, clearly trying _not_ to push herself more into his hands – for someone who was asleep not so long ago, she’s practically _vibrating_ with energy now.  “You’re still annoyed about that?”

“You have no idea.”  His voice is rougher than he’d intended, and he feels Amy shiver.

“Since when do you care so much about reciprocity?”

“Oh, I care,” he says.  “At least until my jaw starts aching.”  He starts to slide down her body then, but Amy stops him, pulling at his neck and shoulders to bring him back up.  “What’s wrong?  You’ll like it.  I’ll like it.”

He sees her form the word ‘No,’ though she doesn’t say it, and he kisses her temple quickly.  “No?  Really?  Because, what, you hate orgasms?”

She’s chewing on her lower lip, clearly suffering a bout of indecision, and he bends to growl in her ear.  “Please, Ames.  I _want_ to.”

She starts to shake her head, but she must see something in his face that changes her mind, because she grabs the wrist of his right hand, and, slowly, looking him in the eye the whole time, pushes it into her shorts.

He can work with this.

It’s not as efficient – he _is_ rather pushed for time – and it’s a sad kind of…adolescent equivalence that she won’t let him… but she could have said no altogether, so he’ll take what he can get.  Besides, this way he might get to see her cum face.

She’s not as wet as he would like – at least, not for this – and so he kisses her (and she’s _more_ than eager), fondling her with his fingers the entire time.  He knows he’s hit the right spot when Amy breaks the kiss, her hips jerking into his hand.  (His second alarm goes off, but they both ignore it).

“That’s right, sweetheart” he says.  “Tell me when it’s good.”  Amy moves his hand, shifting him into the position she wants him, and he can’t help it, he smirks.  “Would it help if I got your phone?”

She stills underneath him, and when he looks at her face, she’s staring up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact.  The way she’s holding her jaw makes it look as though she’s restraining herself, and Dan calculates that she’s about ten seconds away from slapping him and jumping out of the bed entirely.

But he’s still got his hand down her shorts, so he presses on, touching her more firmly – and he takes her chin in his other hand and forces her to look at him.  She looks… _betrayed._   “You think _I_ don’t know what the problem was?  I _know_ you – I know what you like.”  He slides a finger into her and she glares at him, furious and hurt and turned on, all at once.  He starts to move, slowly, teasing her out.  “Did he even _notice_ you were miserable?  Or did he just climb on and expect you to come by magic?”

He adds another finger, and Amy full on moans, her muscles starting to flutter around him.  It’s a surprise to them both (a good one), and he can see her turning pink immediately.  He starts to speed up, and lowers his head to whisper in his ear.  “If he couldn’t get you off then he never deserved to _have_ you.”  He grins.  “It’s not like it’s hard.”

“Why are you like this?” Amy says, her voice cracking in the middle.

“Like what?  Not like your fucking sandbag of a fiancé, that’s for sure.”

“So… fucking…” she stops, gasping as he pushes deeper.  “ _Im_ possible, all the time?”

“Because it’s fun,” he says, and then there’s no more energy to talk, he’s finger-fucking her right to the brink, and Amy…Amy’s shuddering and _moaning_ and trembling from head to foot.  She buries her head in his shoulder when she comes (a shame – he was looking forward to that), and he draws it out, thrusting his fingers into her to make each aftershock last.

Amy’s breathing heavily when she finally lets him see her, her eyes wide and dark in the dim morning light.  “Jesus fucking _Christ_ …” is all she can breathe out, and Dan smirks.

“Or Daniel Clifford Egan.  It’s just as many syllables.”

“ _Cliff_.  I still can’t believe your parents did that to you,” she says, and then she’s dragging him on top of her, as though she _wants_ to be crushed by his weight, kissing him forcefully.

He hadn’t exactly _expected_ this, but he’s more than happy to go with the flow, except… his third alarm goes off.  He swears, long and loud, (he was so _close_ ) and Amy giggles. 

She sounds so… _light_ that it startles him – it’s almost alien.  Just how unhappy has she been, if…?

She stretches up to kiss him again – it’s playful almost, the way she teases him with her tongue, and…he groans. 

“You’re not making this easy.”

“Don’t go,” she says, in the smallest voice he’s ever heard her use.

And it’s tempting.  It’s more than tempting – she’s wet and ready for him, he _knows_ , it would only take a moment to slip off his boxers and push inside her and… she _wants_ him to.

“Sorry,” he says, “But I gotta work.  That’s why we’re doing this, remember?”

Her voice gets even smaller, and Dan didn’t think that was possible.  “Right.”

“Besides, Brookheimer, _when_ I fuck you, I’m going to take my time – give you the kind of long, leisurely fuck you’ll still be feeling _days_ later.”

“Because you’ll have given me herpes,” Amy says, and she doesn’t sound as turned on as he’d expected – but it’s there, a trace of it, in her face.

“No.  Because you’ll have come so hard you’ll be smiling about it for a month.  So, sorry to leave you like this, but you… you think about that, and…do whatever you gotta do.”

Amy raises an eyebrow.  “Whatever creepy fantasy you have of me…”

“Bean-flicking?”

“...In your bed, I’m not some blow-up –”

“But it’s a good fantasy.  It’ll keep me going for days.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Go…do your job.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

He takes the world’s coldest shower (not that he’d mind if anyone noticed he smells like sex – it might even help – but it deals with…other problems), and is only ten minutes late for work in the end.  Jane is pissed and Stevie is pissed and he really _doesn’t_ fucking care.

It was totally worth it.


	5. Five

He’s relieved to discover that Amy doesn’t plan to avoid him just because he finger-fucked her into whimpering in his arms. 

Or, at least, she doesn’t _appear_ to be, though it’s hard to be certain.  She’s business-like more than anything, agreeing to walk the High Line with him one evening in early June – it’s a great spot for social media pick-ups, and Dan knows the exits are about five hundred metres apart, on average, so she has less ability to run away if he says something that pisses her off.

She bitches about him walking too fast, and keeps up a steady stream of complaints about all the assholes who did nothing during the election and yet are desperate to attend Selina’s portrait unveiling.  Apparently Jonah has a new girlfriend, who he wants Amy to meet, and he’s been pestering her repeatedly about getting tickets, much to her frustration.

There must be something wrong with Dan that he’s missed hearing this regular litany of aggravation.

He buys them hotdogs from a vendor, and they sit on the grass and eat (after posting a selfie on Dan’s Instagram).  It’s like it was before all the fuck-ups – Amy’s actually laughing at his jokes, and she’s stopped tensing the fuck up every time he brushes a hand against her skin.

If he’d known giving her an orgasm would affect such a transformation he’d have done it years ago.

But she doesn’t come home with him that night.  She swears up and down that it’s because of her early start the next morning, but he’s on to her.  She’s nervous, not because she doesn’t want to fuck him, but because she _does_ …and she doesn’t trust him not to be a dick about it.

It’s aggravating…but it’s not like he can’t see her point of view.

So, when she says goodbye, he just winks at her and wraps his arms around her waist.  He’s waiting for her to object, to push him away and glare, but she only rolls her eyes.

“That’s fine,” he says, “But you know I’ll be thinking of you.”

Amy wrinkles her nose and pushes against his shoulder.  “I really don’t need to know about your –”

“You’re the one who’s leaving me all by myself.  What am I supposed to do?”

“I think we both know what you’ll do,” Amy says, with a knowing look on her face.

“What can I say,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows.  “I’ll be missing you.”

“Well you have fun with that.”  Amy starts to pull away.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She makes a…curious face, and he kisses her, because he _has_ to.  Usually, he’s left it up to her to initiate contact in public, let her make that decision, but just this once…besides, she clearly doesn’t mind.  She smiles against his mouth, and surges up on her tip-toes to meet him.  Dan spreads his hands out across her back, and then they’re making out on the street.

When they finally break apart, he’s convinced she’s going to say she’s changed her mind, she wants him to take her home _right now_ , and she bites her lip for a moment, so maybe…

But she pulls away.  “I hope your public got their money’s worth,” she says, and squeezes his hand before jumping in a cab.

Which… he’ll let her have that one.  He has her exactly where he wants her, he can afford to be magnanimous (which has nothing to do with Rebecca agreeing to run into him at the gym again).

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a couple of days later when he has to interview Tom James – not an experience he’s particularly looking forward to, given their past encounters.  And Stevie yelling in his ear, fifteen minutes before the interview, that the focus has changed, and he’s to ask about James’ affair with President Meyer (which…really?  It’s a pity it _wasn’t_ public knowledge, it might have helped them in the polls) doesn’t help.

Jane’s interview with Blake Stewart – part of a series she’s doing on surviving the aftermath of political defeat – is playing, so Dan ducks out of the studio and calls Amy.  He doesn’t _have_ to do this, but she’s going to tear his hair out when she sees the interview, so at least this way he can mitigate the damage a little.

When she answers – annoyed at him for calling her at work – he tells her to put Selina on the phone, she has to trust him, he’ll explain why later.  He must sound convincing because a moment later Selina comes on the line, saying, “Why the _fuck_ is Amy insisting I talk to her boyfriend all of a sudden?”

He chooses his words carefully.  “Amy doesn’t know anything about this ma’am.  I wanted you to know that.  I only just found out myself.”

“Found out what?  If you’ve given her an STD there’s no reason our insurance should cover it – she ought to know to avoid high risk activities.”

“I wanted to let you know, ma’am, that I’m going to be interviewing Tom James in… three minutes, and I’ve been told to ask him about his relationship with you.”

Selina takes a deep breath, and then she’s swearing, long and loud, and telling Amy to get Mike, to get Richard, to burn CBS to the ground, ideally while Dan is still inside.

He has to go do the interview… which goes better than he had any reason to expect, all told.  Tom James even compliments him afterwards, saying he was glad to see Dan land on his feet, though it’s a shame in some ways, because Tom knows the DCCC is looking for someone to instil a little message discipline in the newer candidates ahead of the mid-terms, and Dan would have been the perfect person.

Which is true.

He can chew up a first-term congresswoman and spit her out in less time than it takes to check his emails, and given how incompetent most of them are, it’s a genuine pleasure too.  But he’s not going to give up CBS for a two and a half day a week gig in DC, and says so.

But he also, in a fit of inspiration or decency or something, mentions Amy’s name.  She could do the job in her sleep, and he knows she’s desperate for something more meaningful than portrait unveilings and wax figure locations.

James actually seems to like the idea, and says he’ll pass Amy’s details on – they need someone in a hurry, and Amy certainly has the relevant bona fides.

When the broadcast is finally over, he has a text message from Amy, telling him that she’s coming to meet him for lunch – Selina having ‘taken to her bed’ in despair – and he _better_ be ready to meet her.

He really hopes Selina hasn’t fired her.  Amy’s never been fired, and somehow he doubts she’ll handle the experience with much grace, even _if_ a new job may be about to pop up.

When he walks down to meet her at reception, Jane joins him with an odd smile on her face – a smile that only grows broader when she learns that he’s meeting ‘the delightful Amy’ for lunch.  There are few things Dan would not rather do than talk to Jane about Amy, but it’s a long lift ride, and she doesn’t seem to want to talk about anything else.

Which, his having a serious relationship isn’t the _most_ ridiculous thing in the world – if he really wanted Amy he could have her (he thinks) – but Jane seems to find it endlessly entertaining.  That’s probably why, when he sees Amy waiting for him, he puts on a bit of a show (because _fuck_ Jane).  He all but grabs her ass when he kisses her, and, while Amy clicks her tongue in irritation with him, she doesn’t push him away – she knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“You and I need to talk,” she says, “If you’re finished with your little show?”

They’re interrupted by Jane, who says how pleased she is to see Amy again, how she and Dan are working on a series about political loss, and would President Meyer consider participating, and she just has to introduce Dan to that interviewee they discussed before, introduce in person, she means, since it’s not like they’ve _never_ met before.

Because standing right behind Jane, bolo-tie, cowboy boots and all, is Buddy Calhoun.

The man could look socially awkward standing alone in a desert, is Dan’s first thought.  He clearly doesn’t know where to look or put his hands, and he’s staring at Amy like he’s a drowning man and she’s oxygen.  Jane continues talking about how the interview will focus on Buddy rebuilding his life, what it feels like to be chewed up and spat out by the Washington machine and what he thinks of political campaigning, now that he’s seen the horrible process and the people who carry it out from the other side.

“Has your brain gone soft?  Has it actually caved in inside your cotton wool skull and that’s why you’re doing something so incomprehensibly fucking stupid?”

So.

Amy has thoughts.  He’d quite like to watch her rip Calhoun to shreds, but when Buddy tries to put his hand on her arm – to pull her away for a private word, Dan’s guessing – she shrugs him off so violently it looks as though she might dislocate her shoulder.

Jane glances at Dan and grins, and a moment later she’s escorting Buddy up to the studio, apologising for _such_ unpleasantness, she’d never _imagined_ Amy would be there, it must be so upsetting to see the woman who’d used him so horribly…

He might hate her, but… game recognises game.  She’s won this round.

Amy is very still, and rigid, and even her hair is bristling with tension, so it doesn’t startle him when she turns on her heel, and walks for the exit.  He follows, standing in front of her, blocking her way, (and they do that thing where she tries to walk around him and he matches her and it looks like they’re dancing).

She keeps her gaze fixed on his tie and grits out, “I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, no,” Dan says.  “I know that trick.  We’re talking first.”

“There’s nothing I want to –”

“Well I do.”  He knows her – she’ll hide and stew and wind herself up and not talk to him for a month.  “Now, Amy, you can walk up to my office and we can talk, or I can carry you, but you’re going.”

He doesn’t mean what he’s saying, and Amy probably knows it, but she gives in anyway, allowing him to get her a guest pass and accompanying him up to his office.  He doesn’t put a hand on her back to guide her, though it crosses his mind – the way she’s clenching her fists he’s afraid she’ll snap if he touches her.

He locks the door behind him – he doesn’t want Stevie or Brie to walk in just when he finally gets her to talk.  While he does this, Amy puts her purse and phone on his desk, removes her coat in a manner that implies it’s done her a personal injury, and all but throws it on the floor.  When he approaches her, her face twists and she walks to the window.

Dan rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of his desk, enjoying the view as Amy stares out the window at the city.  She’s silent for a long moment, and finally she rests her forehead on the glass and speaks.

“Did you do this?”

It takes him a second to grasp what she means, and then… “Did I invite your marshmallow boyfriend out here?  No.”

“She said you’d talked about it – what, did you think it would be _funny_?  Him telling his down-home sob story?”

“It kind of is,” he says, and, though she’s still looking out the window, he sees her shoulders tighten.  “This is nothing to do with me, it’s just Jane trying to fuck with us.”

“With you,” Amy says, her voice forcibly calm.  “She’s not interested in me, I’m irrelevant – she’s doing this because of _you_.”

“Maybe,” he says, “but so what?  Did you see that Blake Stewart interview?  She’ll probably make Buddy cry, that walking country music song.”

“I don’t want him to cry,” Amy says, and her voice is cracking.  “You class A fucking _moron_ , do you not _get_ it?  I don’t want to ever fucking see him again – I want him to walk into the Grand Canyon and commune with the poisonous snakes or the mountain lions or the survivalists, not –”

He doesn’t understand.  “He does the interview, he looks pathetic, _again_ , and…Amy, you know how this works.  No one votes for that guy.”

“I don’t _care_ if they vote for him.”

“Well, good,” he says, still nonplussed.  “You know, you're not the first person to have an engagement break up.  I –”

“ _Don’t_ use yourself as a bench mark for normal human emotion.”

“Jesus, do you actually…love him or something?”  She doesn’t say anything for… what feels like a painfully long time, and he starts to dread her answer.  “Ames.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she says, and actually dashes for the door.  She fumbles with the handle, obviously having forgotten it’s locked.

“Great way to handle your problems.”  She shakes her head, and he can see she’s getting more and more upset.  “You have to calm down, or you’ll – he’s not going to be here long.”

“I don’t care, I don’t _care_ , I want him to fucking disappear.”

She’s all but given up on her battle with the door, and he holds up her purse.  “This might be useful, if you’re planning to spew your guts up.”

Amy slumps in resignation, and comes over to take it from him.  She keeps her head down, and Dan has to bend to look her in the eye.

Which is when he realises… she’s _crying_.  In the whole time they’ve known each other, he’s never seen that – she’d rather walk through the Capitol naked than let him see her cry. 

She’s come close, once or twice, Dan knows – mostly because of him – but she’s never broken like this before. 

He’s in no position to judge anyone for…anything really, but it crosses his mind that he would, quite cheerfully, choke Buddy Calhoun to death the moment Amy asked.  He’d despised him before, as was the natural order of things, but this… this was something different.

He puts his hand on her arm when she tries to move away.  “You’re not okay,” he says, and it’s not a question, but it is.

“I’ve been worse.”

He’s not sure that’s true.  “Amy, what were you even doing with Fuck Norris?  He wouldn’t know what to do with you if you came with an instruction manual and a chart.”

“Because I thought he was _kind_.”

He laughs.  “Since when do you need people to be kind to you?”

“Since always, maybe.”  She huffs out a breath, and sits on the desk beside him, keeping her head down, avoiding eye contact.  “You don’t know what it was like.  No one would hire me, I was radioactive, and my Dad had that heart attack, and everything was…horrible.  And then Buddy asked me to come out to Nevada, and we’d be _partners_ , like a team, and I’d get him into the Senate eventually, and we have kids or _a_ kid, maybe, and…he threw all of that, he threw my _career_ into the toilet.  I was supposed to be married and winning the campaign by now, not stuck in this fucked up pretend –”

“What are you complaining about – sounds like you dodged the world’s slowest moving bullet.”

“Maybe,” she says.  “It’s not like I’m pining, I’m glad it’s over, I should have left long… I mean, I let myself think that I could have all of that, that I could be _happy_ , and who the fuck was I kidding?  I was never going to be what he… and I actually _tried_ to be, I really did, it’s the _worst_ … and I know it’s fucking hilarious to you that I could be that stupid, but it’s not even a little bit funny to me.  He _humiliated_ me, and he gets to walk away like it was nothing, like he’s the _good_ one and it’s all _my_ fault, after I – no one is ever going to want me after him, he’s made me toxic in every way possible, and _he_ gets to talk about his sad fucking story whenever he feels like it.  I’m _glad_ I abandoned him in front of those news cameras, I’d do it again.  He’s so _modest_ and so _nice_ and so fucking sure he’s _decent_ and _good_ and… I hate him.”

“Big deal,” he says.  “You say you hate me twice a week, and I’m _not_ a long piece of string cheese.”

“Well, I do.  You’re not _better_ than him.”

“You’re fucking insane – of course I am,” he says, and he can’t help himself, when Amy looks up at him, all tragic eyes, he laughs.  (He’s relieved).  “That fucking wide-eyed meerkat couldn’t be a ‘partner’ for you if you pulled every single one of his strings for him, including the one attached to his dick.  You think any human being who’s ever witnessed the two of you share space doesn’t know that?  You should have just come hung out in New York with me, than you wouldn’t –”

“I couldn’t do that!”  She shakes her head.  “Dan, you may think I’m stupid because of all of this, but I can take a hint.  You made it _very_ clear that… And, sure, Buddy didn’t notice I was miserable, but you actually _enjoy_ it.”

“That’s not even a little bit fucking true.”

“Yes, it is,” she says, and she doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t sound sad.  She’s just stating a fact he doesn’t want to hear.  “You think I couldn’t hear it in your voice when we did that nightmare interview?  I know you – you were probably half-hard under the table the whole time.  I think you’re actually worse.”

She has him there – in a way.  He _had_ enjoyed seeing evidence that Amy wasn’t ever marrying a drunk who sexually harassed cars and/or police officers, depending which was within reach.  But that’s not the same as…

“I’m not a fucking…ogre, you know.”

“You might be – you probably have enough dead girlfriends hung up in your closet to qualify.”

It’s half-hearted, and her voice sounds _exhausted_ , but she also leans her head on his shoulder for a moment – and the insult has to mean she’s feeling at least a little better.

He stands, directly in front of her, and pushes her hair out of her face, behind her ears, so she has to look at him.  “For the avoidance of doubt, no, I don’t like it when you’re miserable.”

“Fine, maybe you don’t.  But not caring one way or the other, isn’t…an improvement.”

“It’s not a turn on.  You’re a lot hotter when you’re smiling – or threatening to rip out a man’s pancreas with your teeth.”

“Don’t fluff me, I can’t stand it.  Please, just, pretend I never said anything, I shouldn’t have –”

He kisses her.  It’s not fast, or frenzied, the way it has been before, it’s… _gentle_.  Tender.  He’s not pushing her and she’s not pulling him, they’re…careful with each other.  He brushes his fingers over her neck, her collarbone, her ear, feather-light and slow, and then finally, when they’ve been kissing for he’s not sure how long, he tickles her.

She laughs in the sweetest way, and then they both watch as he slowly, deliberately, unbuttons her dress from the bottom up.  When he reaches her waist he stops, and pushes her skirt up over her hips.  He lets his hands slide under the sides of her panties, and when Amy gives him a nod (a tiny nod), he pulls them down her legs, kneeling on the floor to do it.

When he looks up at her, pointedly licking his lips, she lets out a little noise that might be laughter or might be nerves – he’s not sure.  Dan runs his hands up her legs, feeling all that smooth skin, slightly jumpy at his touch, her calf muscles flexing, and… then he pushes her knees apart.

And stops.

Amy lets out… not quite a whine, but something closer to it than she’ll ever admit, and says, “You’ve wanted to – for weeks now –”

“Not weeks.”

She jolts a little at that, but soldiers on. “What are you waiting for?”

He raises an eyebrow – she should know this.  “The green light,” he says, and…Amy’s expression actually goes _soft_ for a second.

“You think I’d let you put your head between my legs if I _wasn’t_ getting something out of it?  Besides, it’d be cruel of me to deny you something you wanted for _so_ long.”

“Careful or I’ll bite.”  He starts to kiss his way up her thighs, exploring with his fingers as well as his tongue, and right before he reaches her clit, he raises his head (much to her frustration).  (That’ll teach her to taunt him during sex).  “You have to be quiet.  This is my office.”

“Please, they’re probably more than used to it by now.”

“Be quiet, or I’ll gag you,” he says, completely seriously… and Amy lets out a delighted laugh, clearly not believing him for one second.

But she tries – though he doesn’t make it easy for her, stringing it out as long as he possibly can, drawing as many gasps and moans and “right there”s and “fucking shitting _jesus_ Dan”s out of her as he possibly can.

Finally she gets tired of his teasing and demands that he stop dragging it out.  He doesn’t answer her in words, but he does thrust his tongue inside her in place of his fingers, and the way she clenches, and clenches _again_ , and grabs his head to push him further in… it doesn’t take much longer.

The grip she has on his hair is almost painful, and she clearly doesn’t realise because she jumps when he reaches up to loosen her fingers.  “Sorry,” she says, and her voice is all breath, like she’s come over all Marilyn Monroe for a second.

When he stands up, still between her legs, Amy fucking _nestles_ herself against him, tucking her head into his neck and wrapping her arms around his waist.  He’ll take anything over the tension that’s been running through her for so long, as though she was held together with wires, but…he has to admit, he didn’t expect to like it so much.  When she presses her lips to his throat, it’s a reminder of just how turned on he is, and how much he hopes she wants to do something about that.

Which is when her phone, forgotten on the desk (because a real man can make Amy forget her _phone_ ) rings.  She shows no desire to move, and if Dan didn’t recognise the contact name… but he does, so he clears his throat and says, “I think you want to take that.”

Amy blinks at him for a moment and then snatches her phone up, speaking in a tone that’s desperately trying not to sound excited.  Since he already knows what it’s about, Dan devotes himself to opening the rest of the buttons on her dress – only stopping at the top when Amy grabs his hands (though he thinks it’s more surprise at what’s being said to her, than an actual desire for him to stop).

When she hangs up, he undoes the final button, saying, “Abigail O’Connor, right?  She wants you to help whip some newbie candidates into shape?”

“How did you know?”

“Because that – that I _did_ do.”  Amy inhales sharply, and he continues.  “Tom James said they were looking for someone and I mentioned your name.  Have they offered you the job?”

“She wants to talk to me, at the unveiling tomorrow.”

“Then it’s in the bag – don’t say I never do anything for you.  Second job I’ve got you.”

“But…there’s nothing in this for you?”

“Oh,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“Right,” she says, and looks at him hard for a long moment.  When she finally speaks, her voice is crisp.  “Take off your jacket.”

He smirks and does so, and she Looks at him.  “Give it to me.”  She sort of folds it up in her hand, and takes a deep breath before pushing him down to sit on one of the office chairs.

He’s _loving_ this – so much, that he wants to laugh, or grin, because bossy Amy is a flavour he’s never had before (in real life), but he can tell she’s still nervous, so he doesn’t.  (Her dress is wide open and her panties are in his pocket, so he can see why).  Very slowly, she lowers herself off the desk and stands in front of him, trailing her fingers down the front of his shirt, toying with the buttons as she goes.

When she finally says, “Pants too” his hands move so fucking fast he’s almost clumsy.  His belt buckle hits the arm of his chair with an audible metallic ‘clang,’ and Amy smirks down at him – she likes that he’s so eager, he thinks, likes that it’s not just her.

She steps between his legs, and just her _looking_ at him is making him harder, so watching her slowly, purposefully, place his jacket on the floor as a cushion… she’s not trying to be provocative, he knows that, it’s not her way, but… it satisfies a kink he didn’t even know he had.  When she kneels down, bracing her hands on his thighs, he just can’t help himself.  “Not a fan of rug burn, I take it?”

She raises an eyebrow.  “Let me be very, _very_ clear.  You say one thing to make me regret this, and I walk out of here right now, and then you get to deal with this little…situation all by yourself.”

“Little?”

She rolls her eyes at his indignant tone, and lowers her mouth on to him, moving agonisingly slowly, teasing him out with tongue and lips and hands and tongue, and if it’s revenge for him messing with her earlier… he doesn’t fucking care, she can pay him back as much as she wants, forever.

She’s leaning her full weight on him, almost holding him down, and so he resists the urge to push his hips upward – if Amy needs to be in control for this, he’ll happily let her.

But she doesn’t look at him.

It’s the one disappointment of an otherwise pretty fucking spectacular blow-job.  She’s so focused on her task that she doesn’t look up once, and while usually he can lose himself in the sensation without thinking about who it is… he wants her to look at him, to meet his eyes while she…

She never looks up, and he eventually leans his head back and lets the pleasure take him completely – she’s so warm and wet and _firm…_

When he finally comes back to himself, Amy’s standing in front of him, prim and proper and buttoned all the way back up.  He pulls her to sit on his knee, and she comes, easy, without even a sarcastic expression.  He doesn’t kiss her, or even feel her up, though he could… just inhales her, enjoys the feeling of her soft weight on his chest.

“So,” he says at last, “You hungry?”

Amy’s face contorts in amusement, but what she says is, “I should really prepare for the meeting tomorrow.”

“Because you want to read about everything Abigail O’Connor ever did?  She’s a strategist, not Lincoln.  Besides, you’ll research better when you’ve eaten.”

Amy toys with his tie, and says in a tone of voice that’s far too innocent, “What did you have in mind?”

“Sushi.”

She actually laughs then, a great loud uncouth _gale_ of laughter, and Dan tightens his hold around her waist – he doesn’t want her to fall.  She kisses him before she’s even finished, forcing her tongue into his mouth, greedy and demanding and she’s so fucking _hot_ when she’s bold and brave like this. 

When she pulls away, he might be staring at her, but all she says is, “Are you going to give me back my underwear?”

“No,” he says, and tightens his hand on her hip.  “But you can have them the next time you come to my apartment.”  He wriggles his eyebrows, and Amy gives a long-suffering sigh that makes him want to throw her on the desk and…

(It’s not that he’s _disappointed_ with how things have turned out this time, but fucking Amy over a desk – or against a wall – or in a bed – or anywhere – was a long-held fantasy, and every encounter just whets his appetite.  He wants her _more_ now).

“Asshole,” Amy says, and stands.  “Come on, I don’t want to waste time.”

“Sure,” he says, and pulls himself back together as quickly as he can.  (What takes longest is fixing his hair, Amy’s hands having wrought all kinds of destruction).

They go to the nearest sushi joint, and while he gorges himself on tuna nigiri, he asks the one question he _has_ to know the answer to.  “Since when do you want kids?”

That, more than anything, was the part of her confession that had disturbed him.  Marriage was temporary (for most people) but children… If Buddy Calhoun had been just a little less idiotic, she might have stayed in Nevada permanently, and he… he'd never have really seen her again, she’d have turned into some blank-faced Stepford harpy, perpetually seething with frustration and convinced it was her own fault.

Amy takes a long swig of her water and stares out the window.  “I don’t know,” she says, “I suppose I just started thinking about it.”

“When?”

“I guess… when I realised we might lose – that there was at least a chance it would all come down to _Jonah_ – I started…thinking about what I want.”  Which was right around the time she’d convinced him to pack his bags for New Hampshire, if he remembered rightly.  She’d sent him off and barely spoken to him until she came to help with the campaign.  “And, you know, I was looking around, and everyone else in this business has those things – it’s not like you _have_ to be alone – Mike has a family, and Ben, and…even Selina has Catherine.”

“And that didn’t put you off?”

“My kid wouldn’t be like Catherine, she’d… they’d be better.”

“Not if Pa Ingalls gone pervert was the Dad.”

“Well,” she says, “It doesn’t matter now anyway.  It’s probably not going to happen.”  She has that look again, that _bruised_ look she used to get every time he mentioned Calhoun… and it’s much easier to bear when he knows why.

“You and me both.”

Amy looks confused, and he tells her all about his adventures in sperm donation.  Her reaction… isn’t quite what he expects, because she _laughs_.  (Had he been hoping she’d sound disappointed?  No).  “I’m sorry,” she says, “It’s just… the world may well be better off.  A child with DNA from you, Selina and _Andrew_ might as well be called Damien.”

“Mock my infertility, go ahead, that’s nice.”

“I’m not nice.  And if it bothers you in the least, I’ll be very surprised.”

“Well,” he says, and grins obscenely.  “There are compensations.”

“ _Gross_ ,” Amy says, and he doesn’t doubt that she means it.  “Like you weren’t already a one-man STD petri-dish?”

“Do you think I would risk _my_ health – it depends who I’m with.”  She nods for a second, as though taking that in, and he moves closer, crowding her a little and whispering in her ear.  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes so hard it must hurt.  “Get over yourself.”

“I just ate you out so well, you forgot your tighty-whitie ex was even in the building.  If you’re trying not to feed my ego, that's not the way to go.”

There’s a pause, and finally she says, “Do you know when that piece might air?”

She really is dreading it, he can tell.  “I’ll talk to Stevie.  Maybe I can do something, get it changed or… I’m sick of her fucking with me.”  Which is true.  It’s not that he’s protective of Amy – far from it, that’s the least thing she needs – but at the same time…  “Even if it does, it’s not going to ruin your life.  People have short memories.”

He won’t let it – Amy descending into some funk of depression because of a spit-shined spaghetti Western extra was not something he could ever allow.

Which is why, when he gets back to the office, he seeks out Stevie in the editing suite and protests.  He complains that Jane keeps trying to break up his relationship with his girlfriend, who he actually _cares_ about (Stevie smirks at that, but doesn’t say anything), that she’s dragging Amy through the mud on air to do it (the questions she’d asked Calhoun make that obvious), and treating him like a fucking lap dancer in front of the entire studio.  He’s sick of being felt up and manipulated and having his personal life be nothing more than a toy for the network.

It’s fucked up sexual harassment shit, and Stevie better do something about it, or…

The interview is cancelled – and only partly because Buddy Calhoun is duller than February, rambling on about how he lost the love of his life, and he wishes he’d known what he was getting into, and he’ll regret his mistakes forever.


	6. Six

Jane gets fired. 

Jane gets fired and Dan gets her job and everything is about as good as it could possibly be.

He texts Amy to tell her he’s coming over and buys a bottle of champagne on the way.  She’s staying in a postage stamp way uptown that she’s sub-letting from a college friend.  She hasn’t _told_ Dan that it’s temporary, but he can’t imagine any other reason for her not getting something better – Amy’s apartment in DC had always been pristine, and he’d suspected she found in a necessary respite (not that she’d cleaned it herself, no, Amy was _not_ domestic).

She seems surprised to hear from him, but lets him in without complaint and only raises her eyebrows when she sees the bottle of champagne.  Still, she takes it from him and walks it into the kitchen.  When he follows her, he sees she’s bent to put the bottle in the freezer – a wise choice, as it had warmed up in his hands and the New York sun.

“So,” Amy says, closing the door with her hip.  “What are we celebrating?”

“Jane got fired,” Dan says, and fills her in on his promotion.  “And Stevie finally – _finally_ – accepts that we weren’t fucking.”

“Does he think you have too much conscience to screw over a woman you were… he must not know you very well.”

“Cute.  And, no.  My insisting that Buddy’s interview be pulled was what did it.”

“It’s not going to air?”

“No,” he says, and watches her.  It’s like every muscle in her body loosens, just a little and all at once.

“Thanks,” she says, looking at him through her eyelashes.  “I owe you one.”

“Yeah,” Dan says.  “About that – you never paid me back for getting rid of Richard, you know.”

“Oh, really?  Tell me Dan, have I ever slapped you?  Because believe me, I have wanted to.”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer to her.  “But that’s only because you love me.”

“I do _not_.”  Amy sounds outraged, though he’d really only meant it as a joke, and Dan smirks at her.  “You vastly overestimate your own appeal, you know that?”

“Maybe.”  He takes another step closer.  “But you still do.”

“No, I don’t.”

She doesn’t sound like she’s even convincing _herself_ , and Dan is tempted to push it, really push it, when her phone rings.  Amy must have been expecting the call, because she snatches her phone out of her pocket and answers, ignoring the fact that he’s almost on top of her.

It must be good news, because after thirty seconds or so, Amy slaps his chest and then fists her hand in his shirt, meeting his eyes with a grin and clearly trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.  He puts his hand over hers and holds it there – he’s not backing away from her in this mood.

When she finally hangs up, she puts her phone down very, very carefully, as though she’s afraid it might leap out of her hand.  She doesn’t even seem to realise she’s still holding his shirt until she looks back up at him, and Dan tightens his hold on her hand before she can pull away.

“So?”

“I got it!”

And then she throws herself at him.  It’s definitely an impulsive, spur of the moment thing, because he can _feel_ the second when she realises “Dan is not your actual boyfriend, what the fuck are you doing?” and decides to break the kiss.  She looks at the floor as she apologises, and he’s not having that, not for one second, so he steps right into her space.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Amy looks up then, and it’s all the cue he needs.  He’s waited so fucking long to do this, he’s had to tap into reserves of patience he didn’t even know he _had_ – he’s not passing up his first opportunity.

He takes her head in his hands and kisses her fiercely, demanding her participation.  Even when she twines her arms around his neck, she’s still too far away, and so Dan gives into his instincts and lifts her onto the kitchen counter, pushing her skirt up as he does so.  Amy huffs out a surprised laugh against his mouth, but doesn’t break away, not for a moment.

Her hands are all over him, running over his back, his arms, his shoulders, before settling on his tie, pulling him closer with it.

He can feel her get into a muddle trying to undo the knot, and he lifts his hands to help her… and then gets distracted, taking her hands in his and holding them behind her back so she’s pushed more firmly into him, breasts and belly and hips crushed against his front.

It doesn’t last long of course – Amy sneakily gets her hands free, biting his lip and distracting him, and insinuates them under his collar.  She wants to touch his skin, Dan realises, and so he helps her, yanking his tie off and unbuttoning his shirt.

When he’s done, Amy finally removes her mouth from his, dropping kisses on his neck and chest, and brushing her fingers across his stomach.  While she’s busy with that, Dan pulls her panties off, throwing them behind him and bending his head to kiss her again, chasing her mouth with his and making her giggle.  She gasps when he tires of the game, pulling her to him with a hand on her neck and kissing her roughly.

But it’s when he grabs her hips and _pulls_ her into him, pressing his crotch into her and making her moan, that she freezes.

There’s a moment or two when he hopes it was only surprise, that they can keep going, but Amy breaks their kiss, gulping in air like she was drowning.  When she finally looks him dead in the eye, Dan doesn’t have to be told, he’s already taking his hands off her (and setting them _carefully_ down on the counter, flat, leaning on them heavily so he won’t be tempted to touch her) before she’s even started speaking.

“Dan.  We gotta stop.”

He doesn’t _want_ to stop, he doesn’t want to let her go, ever, but… so he takes a breath, trying not to sound like he’s losing control, and leans his forehead against hers.  “No,” he says, “We don’t.”

Amy starts to move away from him then, sliding down off the counter (and she brushes against his hard-on as she goes, she can’t help it, and it's torture).  She leaves the room like she’s fleeing the scene of a crime, saying, “We need to talk.”

Nothing good ever follows that sentence, and Dan takes a moment to steady himself, pressing his fists into the counter-top.  The last thing he wants is to lose his temper – really lose it.  Amy’s never seen it, but he knows he can be intimidating when he’s angry, and that… that won't help.  So, he waits at least a minute before going in search of her.

He finds her, slightly to his surprise, in her bedroom.  She’s rummaging through her underwear drawer, and when he finally speaks she jumps, turning around to face him with the world’s largest pair of granny panties in her hand.

“What do we need to talk about?”

“Can you wait in the next room please?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to have underwear on when I have this conversation with you.”

“All the more reason for me to stay right here.”

“Fine,” Amy says, sounding irritated – but she puts the panties down (she doesn’t want to have to haul her skirt up and get even more naked for him, Dan thinks, even if it’s only for a second).

“So, what do you want to _talk_ about?”

She takes a deep breath, watching him carefully – she has that stillness that isn’t stillness at all, but movement waiting to happen.  “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

“Oh, really?  Enjoying it too much?”

“That’s beside the point,” Amy says.  “The whole reason we were doing this _stupid_ … Jane’s gone, you’re a free man, you don’t have to –”

“That’s no reason we can’t fuck.”

She flinches a little, at his tone maybe, or his words, and it pleases him.  He knows he’s being an asshole, but it pleases him.  “Are you seriously pissed at me?”

“Yeah, _obviously_.  You didn’t pick the ideal moment for this conversation, Ames.”

“You fucking hypocrite – like you didn’t come here to say the exact same thing to me.  ‘It’s been fun, but I’m going to find greener pastures, someone who’ll be more useful to me.’  You think I don’t know why you did all of this?”

“And what do you do – fuck off with the next idiot who calls?  Disappear again with some prick who can’t fuck you and definitely can’t make you happy, but at least you’re not too fucking scared to tell him how you –”

“Maybe.  Maybe I will.”  Her face is flushed with anger.  “Maybe that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“ _Fuck_ that,” Dan says, and steps closer to her, only stopping when she holds up both hands in warning.

“Let’s get this clear once and for all.  I do not _belong_ to you.”

Her voice is shaking, and he can’t tell if it’s anger or hurt or something else.

“Yes, you do.”

He regrets saying it the moment the words have passed his lips, and the way Amy screws up her face makes it clear she’s about to kill him.  “Do you need me to draw you a chart, Dan, or maybe a graph?  Because I’m not putting up with – I will go where I want, and I’ll fuck who I want, and do what I want, and I’m not going to hear a _word_ from you –”

“You hate me that much, do you?  You’ll fuck up your own life just to prove a point?”

“I _never_ hated you, that’s the problem.”  Amy’s face kind of collapses as she overhears herself, and she looks at the floor as she continues.  “It’s the worst part, because I really, really should.”

She looks utterly defeated, and there’s a long moment of silence between them as Dan…lets her meaning sink in. 

And then he does the only thing he can do.  He cups her face, her flushed, angry, _adorable_ face, in his hands and kisses her cheek, her nose, her temple, and when she lifts her chin to be kissed properly, he takes her mouth too, curling his tongue with hers.

In less than a minute he’s pushed her back on the bed, and he’s kissing every inch of her he can reach, teasing her with his fingers and biting the soft skin behind her ear.

“Dan…”

She says his name in that breathy tone that drives him crazy, and he leans his head against hers for a moment.  “ _Amy_ ,” he says, and kisses her again, feeling her with his fingers, checking she’s wet, checking she’s ready.

Which is when he feels her hands on his belt, his fly, and then they’re both fumbling and getting in each other’s way, and it takes so much longer than it should for him to push inside her.

Amy moans the moment he does so, and Dan manages to grit out, “Finally,” before burying his face in her hair.  She’s wet and firm and tight, and biting her lip in that Amy way, and her hands are clamped around his biceps, holding on to him like a life line.

He doesn’t usually have to…pause, like this, and he can feel Amy getting anxious, feel the worry in her body.  He’s always been able to read her easily, but this… this is different.

“Dan,” she says, after he’s not sure how long.  “Dan, I need you to _move_.”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t though, and Amy’s voice starts to sound nervous as she says, “Is everything – are you okay?”

“Ssh, ssh.”  He kisses her temple and starts to prop himself up on his arms.  “Shut up.  You’re perfect.  Just give me a second.”

And then they’re fucking, Dan pushing in and out, and Amy pulling him in closer, deeper, her hands steering his hips until he hits a spot that makes her moan.  He’s grateful, because he’s got no time for finesse or technique, he can’t get close enough, he wants it to last forever, he wants to get inside her very skin and never come out.

They’re so close they’re breathing each other’s air, and the rustling of her dress against his pants as they move fills the room.  Amy’s tense, her neck arching up by his mouth, and when he kisses it, slowing down for a moment, she makes an impatient noise.  “I’m close,” she says.  “Please.  Go harder.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and he shifts slightly, adjusting their hips (and brushing her clit with his thumb, because he can), and when he resumes, it takes no time at all for Amy to clench around him, moaning and moaning again as the pleasure jolts through her.  The tightening of her muscles is enough to finish him off, and he slumps on top of her, feeling like his heart will never slow down.

Eventually, he wakes up enough to roll them, and Amy makes a pleased sound when he settles her firmly against his chest.  They’re both silent for a few minutes, listening to each other breathe, and finally, her voice languid in a way he could really get used to, she says, “You know… this isn’t how I ever thought this would go.”

“I don’t know,” he responds.  “Fucking in the middle of a fight… that’s about what I expected.  Though I always liked to think there’d be fewer clothes.”

“Well, that’s your fault.” Amy nuzzles his neck.  “You shouldn’t be so impatient all the time.”

“ _I’m_ impatient?  Need I remind you just who… guess it’s been a long ole time since you’ve had a proper fuck.”

She doesn’t draw away, exactly, but she does…make herself smaller somehow (which shouldn’t even be possible).  “Do you have to be such an asshole?  It can’t ever just be sex with you, can it?”

“Eh…Ames, not to –”

“I meant – yes.  Okay, yes.  It’s better with you than it was with Buddy – a lot better.  Do you want to rub it in?  Does it make you happy?”

“Yeah.  _Obviously_.  Sue me, Ames, I like knowing that I’m better than that – I’m not perfect, but I’d never fuck a woman who didn’t enjoy it.  What kind of man does?”

Her faces softens, but all she says is, “You’re still a shit.”

“I know,” he says, and kisses her.  “Now, I’m hungry – can we get takeout or something?”

“Sure.  But… before… I have to know, are you absolutely _sure_ I don’t need to take the morning after pill, because –”

“The doctor said it was impossible.”

She sighs in relief, and explains.  “I bled for nearly two weeks – a lot – the one time I took it.  I mean, if I have to I will, but… it’s not pleasant.”

“She was pretty damn clear.  So… Thai?”

Amy laughs, and watches as he scrolls through his phone.  She also vetoes half his restaurant choices, because of course she does.  They eventually compromise on Vietnamese, which Amy insists will be a better match with his champagne.

And then they just…talk.  He gives her a blow-by-blow account of Jane’s battle with HR, and she updates him on the unveiling and Jonah’s government shut down.  He tells her his plans for the new show, and she talks him through the list of candidates Abigail has sent her, and what their weaknesses might be.  Selina is apparently willing to lose Amy for half the week (temporarily), because if they take back the House she’s pretty sure Furlong will schedule another vote on the Presidency.  (Amy is less sure of this, but willing to take advantage of Selina’s optimism if she must).

It’s late by the time they’ve finished, and Dan retrieves his jacket from the kitchen, getting ready to leave in as ostentatious a manner as possible.  When he opens the door, he pauses and says, “I guess I’ll see you –”

“Or you could stay.”  Amy’s twisting her hands and not quite looking at him, and he sees her sum up her courage to put her hand on his arm.  “I mean, just for tonight, but…”

“I’d like that.”

She takes him by the hand, and slowly leads him back into her bedroom, and he gets the chance to take his time, the way he’d wanted.  He strips her off slowly, adoring her with his mouth and his hands every step of the way, and she does the same to him, until they’re both glowing and naked with each other, completely open.  She’s steadier, surer, touching him like she owns him, leaving her mark everywhere she can, and finally she holds him down and straddles him, and getting to watch her face as she rides him… it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Afterwards, when they’re lying on their sides, facing each other, he asks the question, because he might as well – she might be open to it, it’s not impossible.  “So, you’ll be in DC two nights a week?”

“Three,” Amy says, yawning in a satisfied, cat-like way.  “I’ll probably take the train on Sundays, so I’m fresh.”

“Right.  And Wednesday to Saturday, you’ll be here.”

“Well, I’ll be wherever Selina is, so… who knows?  Probably.”

Dan strokes the curve of her waist and the side of her ass, enjoying the smooth warmth of her skin and the way she curls into his touch.  “You know,” he says.  “You could stay with me.”

Amy doesn’t roll her eyes, though it’s clearly an effort.  “I don’t think so.”

“Why waste money paying rent when you don’t have to?  And you’ll like it.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Amy says, without a trace of humour.  “I meant what I said – I have no intention of being yet another member of your harem.”

“You’d be my favourite.”

“Even if that was true – it’s nowhere _near_ as appealing as you think it is.  I want something _real_.”

“What am I, a hologram?”

“The only reason you even did this was because of your job,” Amy says, and there’s something _bleak_ in her face.  “I don’t want that.  You’ll just throw me over when someone more useful comes along anyway.”

“Well, probably – but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in the –”

“You don’t need me to have fun.”  Her voice is chilly.  “Or was I not supposed to notice that you were texting ‘Rebecca’ constantly?”

He’s not normally stuck for a lie, but this time… this time he goes blank.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I didn’t figure it out immediately.  And then we had so many other things to fight about.  Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”

He kisses her shoulder.  “I was only fucking her because you wouldn’t.”

“And why do you think that was?”

“So you want to be my ‘one and only’ is that it?”

“Don’t act like I’m being funny.”  Amy’s expression is pure winter.  “It’s not like you’d be fine with it if you thought I was sleeping with someone else – you’d hate it just as much as I do.  More, probably.”

“But that’s different.”

“No, it _isn’t_.  Look, let’s play this little scenario of yours out, in a world where I’m dumb enough to agree to it.  You could have me – you could have everything I’ve got, Wednesday to Saturday, every week – but you’d have to give up all those other… and we both know that you won’t.  I’m not…”  She takes a breath, steeling herself.  “That’s not what you want, and you know it.  So don’t try to make me play along with your strange little post-sex fantasy.  I’m not that stupid.  I know perfectly well what you’d do when I’m not here.”

She turns on her side then, away from him, and for a moment he’s not sure what to say.  “Do you want me to leave?”

She’s not facing him, but Dan can see her shake her head, and it makes him feel surer of his ground.  He spoons her, moving slowly, giving her time to push him away if she has to.  “Ames,” he says, putting his arm over her.  “You know you’re special to me.”

She sighs.  “I have no idea what that means, Dan, and you don’t either.  And you’re just saying it so I won’t throw you out in the street naked.”

“That’s only most of the reason,” he says.  He means it to sound teasing, but she doesn’t laugh.  “And you have more fun with me than any of those ‘real’ assholes.”

“I know I do – it _sucks_.”

She sounds like she might cry, and he decides to stop pushing it (for now), and give her… something.  “It’s just that… I got used to having you around again.”  He squeezes her as close as he can.  “I kind of missed you.”

“That’s only because you don’t have any actual friends.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“I can’t help it,” Amy says, and he snorts with laughter, his nose brushing her neck.  She entwines her fingers with his, settling into his embrace at last.  “I won’t… disappear again.”  Her voice turns fierce.  “But you have to be at least… _nice_ , if you’re capable of it.  I’m not sticking around to be told endlessly… for you to make me feel bad.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You know perfectly well that you do sometimes – you get off on it.  Why do you think I stopped seeing you?”

“Amy.  Didn’t anyone ever pull your hair in the schoolyard?”

“Yeah.  And it fucking _hurt_.  I get enough shit from Selina day-in day-out, I’m not taking it from you too.”

He wants to defend himself – tell her he doesn’t owe her anything – remind her he doesn’t have to put up with _any_ of this… but he knows Amy, he knows when she’s serious.  If he fights her on this, she’ll just ghost him again.

So instead he kisses her and encourages her to sleep, and when he wakes her the next morning, they fuck again, slow and lazy, barely even moving from their comfortable position, but touching each other and feeling each other for what seems like hours. 

He even convinces her to spend the next night – her last night in New York – with him.  His apartment is so much more convenient for Penn Station after all.  He can tell she’s dubious, but he gives her his most sarcastic, insincere tone, and that…that sets her at her ease, since it’s obvious he’s just after more sex.

Which is fine – he’ll let her think that.  Because she fucking loves him – he knows she does, he _knows_ it – so there’s no way he’s giving her up that easily.  She’ll give him what he wants – she won’t be able to resist.

 

* * *

 

 

When she does show up that evening, she’s more relaxed than she’s been in… he can’t remember how long, like some load he didn’t know about has been lifted.  She kisses him when she arrives, planting herself on his new couch and suggesting they order pizza.

Literally all he’s done since leaving her apartment is go to the gym and try to think of a new sign-off for the show (he hasn’t had much luck), so seeing Amy, rosy and full of complaints, comes as a profound relief.

She's in such a good mood she only laughs at him when his phone lights up with a message from Rebecca, though she tells him, at some length, that he’s shameful for chasing after a bored housewife who loves kittens – what do they even have to talk about in the thirty seconds before he runs for the door?

He rolls his eyes at her, and puts on Indiana Jones – because she has to see the second half of the film, damnit – and they watch the first few minutes in silence.  Amy has her feet in his lap, and he’s stroking her ankles slightly absently when she pokes him with her toe.

“Hey Dan,” she says, and he looks to see her knees very pointedly parted.  “Wanna fool around?”

He smirks.  “Taking full advantage of your sex window, I see?”

“Do you really think you’re the only one who likes sex?”

“No,” he says, pausing the film and crawling on top of her.  “I’m just not used to the idea of you being such a nympho.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not in the least – I like it.  But you’ve probably had more sex with me in the last twenty-four hours than with Buddy in, say, six months?”

“If _only_ ,” Amy says, unbuttoning his shirt.  “I don’t know how you do it all the time – first time sex is usually…disappointing if not awful.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, Amy.”  He pulls her sweater over her head and spreads his mouth over her breasts.

“It’s true,” she says, gasping when he brushes her nipple with his teeth.  “It takes time to… to get to know what works.”

“Did you think Buddy could be taught, is that it?  It didn’t take me long.”

“That’s because you’re a massive slut – you probably have, like, a catalogue of moves or something.”

“No,” he says, genuinely pissed off.  “It’s because I pay attention to _you_.”

“If you paid attention this would have happened already.”

“I don’t recall you inviting me for coffee or a nightcap or whatever, Amy, and I would have gone.”  Her face freezes in an odd way, and he wonders…   “Did I miss something?”

“Just get back to work,” she says, and slides her hand into his boxers… and when she touches him like that, he doesn’t have the attention to pursue the point.

It’s fast and dirty and he has to finish her off with his fingers when he comes first – it’s a miracle they even hear the pizza delivery guy knock, because they’re both slumped on the couch in a sex coma by the time he arrives.

Amy answers the door, since Dan is in no state to be seen by, well, _anyone_ , and the two of them eat pizza and watch the film, full and contented and happy.  Amy eventually curls up, lying her head in his lap and even letting him stroke her hair.  (They’d done this before a few times on the campaign trail, late at night, when there genuinely wasn't anything left to do, but Amy had always resolutely kept her distance).

It’s…domestic, and, weirdly, Dan… doesn’t hate it.  It’s even kind of fun to share headlines with Amy as they prepare for bed, and getting to squeeze her thigh when he wants to make a point.  They both fall into a deep sleep – not having slept much the night before – and it’s…nice, knowing she’s there, that he can reach out and touch her whenever he wants.

 

* * *

  

Amy wakes him the next morning.  She’s fully dressed (in jeans and a plaid shirt, like some weird casualwear fantasy).  “I’ve got to go,” she says, “I thought I’d tell you.”

He sits up, brushing the sleep from his eyes.  “What time is it?”  She’s sitting right beside him on the bed, and he puts his hands on her hips, thinking through his next move.

“My train’s in an hour or so,” Amy says, not quite looking at him.  “I made you a coffee.”

“That’s sweet,” Dan says, ignoring the mug on his nightstand.  “But do you know what would be _sweeter_?”

“No –”

He kisses her, knowing she won’t care about his morning breath, knowing she’ll like being pressed up against his bare chest, and when she relaxes against him, he twists and pulls her underneath him.  “You should stay,” he says, and kisses her neck.  “Take a later train.”

“I have to meet Abigail and then go for dinner with my family, so… that’s a no.”

“You hate your family.  Stay here with me.”  He rests his chin on her collarbone, letting his weight crush her just a little.

She’s trying not to smile at him when she answers.  “I don’t _hate_ them.  They’re just… exhausting.”

“Whatever.  You know, it’s real considerate of you, Amy,” he says, flicking her shirt open.   “Always wearing things I can unbutton.”

“I’m giving all of my shirt dresses to Goodwill.”

“But I _like_ them.”

“Yeah, that’s why.”

“Now you’re just being _mean_.”

He kisses her again, and they make out for one delicious minute, Amy running her fingers through his hair.  When they finally break apart he thinks… he thinks maybe he’s convinced her.   But she only sighs.  “I really have to go.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Well that’s… that sucks for you.”

“But we have so much _fun_ together.”

“You don’t have a god-given right to sex with me, and I know you know that, so stop pushing.  I’m not going to be your fake girlfriend whenever it suits you – you can make do with every other woman on the planet, it always worked for you before.”

“I know you _want_ to stay,” he says.  “You want me to touch you so much you can’t even keep still.”

“That’s my business,” Amy says, bracing her hands on his chest, pushing him back just a little.  “Now, I’m going to do something dangerously stupid, and assume there’s at least two per cent of you that cares about me…even if only a little.”

“Make it four.”

“Dan...you said you didn’t like when I was miserable.  And we both know that… if you really tried, you could make me stay.  But I’m _asking_ you not to.  Don’t do this to me again.”

“Well now you’re just encouraging me.”

“ _Please_.”

There’s nothing he can say to that – or at least, nothing he’s willing to right now.  He could fight her, could fight her tooth and nail and make her give in, but… she really will disappear on him again if he does that, so… he just rolls on his back.  The two of them lie there for a while, not touching each other, and finally Amy says, “Thank you.”

“Jesus, Amy, don’t thank me for…for what, for being a decent human being for the first time in a decade?”

“Well, it’s a new look for you,” she says.  “I kind of like it.”

“You could stay just a _little_ longer, give me a goodbye –”

“I could.  But I’m not going to.  Besides, you can always invite Rebecca over – or, better yet, maybe she has a sister.”

The way she says it, Dan thinks it’s supposed to be funny, but it isn’t, not really, not at all, and he sits up to look at her properly.  She’s looking at the ceiling, and he has to turn her head with his hand to make her look at him.  “Amy, if that’s why you’re leaving – you know that wasn’t –”

“Do you _really_ want to do this now?”

“You’re about to fuck off for I don’t know how long, so yes, I do.”

“Fine,” she snaps, and sits up sharply, perching on the edge of the bed, away from him.  “So you’re completely clear – it’s not why.  Or at least, it’s not the main reason.  But I don’t _know_ it wasn’t… dot dot dot, asshole, what I know is that you _knew_.  You _knew_ I was upset, and it made you _happy_.  You were probably proud you made me cry again, probably patting yourself on the back, and that… that’s really hard to forget.  I mean, I expect it from Sophie, I know she fucking hates me, but I thought you… it’s my own fault for imagining you...I know that… but still.”

Amy’s voice doesn’t wobble and her eyes are dry, and she has that cool, steady tone she always uses to inform him that his perception of reality is fundamentally flawed and she’s going to educate him whether he likes it or not.

“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“No.  It wouldn’t.  Because you’re not, you’re just annoyed you can’t have what you want right this second, even though in five minutes you won't want it anymore.  And you weren’t remotely sorry when I _needed_ you to be, when it would have helped.  So don’t pretend to be now – you’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“No,” he says.  “I wouldn’t.”  And he pulls her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her, tight as he can, because he needs her to know he’s telling the truth.  “It wasn’t worth it.  I meant what _I_ said – you’re…special to me.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is convenient.”

“No, it isn’t.  I really did miss you, Amy.”

She sniffs a little, and her voice is definitely shaky, when she says, “I missed you too.”

“Of course you did.”

“And then you ruin the almost nice moment by being an _ass_.  How not surprising.”

They sit like that for a little while, Amy comfortable and soft in his arms, and he’s tempted to just hold on, just not let her leave – but she’d never forgive him, so he doesn’t.  (Now isn't the time).

When she finally pulls away she’s smiling (she also has to brush tears from her eyes, but she _is_ smiling).  “I’m going to miss my train,” she says.

“Yeah, you should –”

“I will.”  She kisses his cheek, and pulls away, her smile steadier.  “I guess… I’ll see you round.”

And she stands and takes her case, and it’s only when she’s at the door that Dan manages to say, “Amy?”

“Yeah?”

“Make a congressman cry for me.”

“Always do.”

“Atta girl.”

She laughs and leaves, and as Dan hears the door of his apartment closing he takes a sip of the coffee she’d made him.

It’s perfect – exactly how he likes it.

He goes about his day – catching up on the news and conferencing with Stevie ahead of Monday’s broadcast, going to the gym and running into Rebecca, not checking his phone to see if Amy’s texted, and calling his mother, if only so she won’t send out a search party.

He’s excited for his first broadcast as lead anchor, but at the same time… at the same time, there’s one thought he just can’t shake, that just won’t go away.

Did he just get _dumped_?


	7. Seven

Amy keeps her word – up to a point.

She doesn’t disappear again – she answers his text messages, and even talks to him on the phone, on the rare occasions when they manage to intersect for a few minutes.  She sounds not… happy, Dan doesn’t think, but happier certainly, and busy… very, very busy.

Far too busy to, for instance, go for a drink with him or grab brunch some Sunday before she gets her train, she couldn’t possibly.

He’d never appreciated how easy he’d had it when he worked for Selina, being able to pester Amy all day long and drag her for meals whenever he felt like it.

Dan knows he could talk her round, if she would just… _see_ him. 

Amy probably knows that too, which he suspects is why she’s avoiding him.  She’s so…all or nothing about things, is the problem – as though the only options are total silence or misery (on her part).

It’s insulting – as though they don’t both know how…delighted he could make her, if she’d only let him.  Not that he’s pining, no, not a bit of it.  With Amy properly gone, he’s free to…take full advantage of all the opportunities offered to him.

Which is precisely what he does.  It’s never, not once, been hard for him to get female companionship if he wants it, and for the first month or so, he dives back into the dating scene, seeing a different woman every night (and if one of them ditches him because he spends fifteen minutes listening to Amy complain about the incompetence of the campaign staff in Iowa’s fourth district, well that’s her loss).

And then Brie happens, and everything gets much, much easier.  She’s bored and hot and often separated from her fiancé, so… it doesn’t take them long to establish a routine.  She’ll stop by his office and fuck him at his desk, or they’ll go for a quick lunch when they’ve wrapped for the day and make use of the disabled bathroom.  It’s kind of perfect actually, because Brie never wants anything from him but a quick orgasm.

He doesn’t exactly _mean_ to tell Amy about her, but he does anyway, one night when he’s heard her mention ‘Jack’ (and who the fuck is Jack?) one too many times.  She seems totally unsurprised, though there’s definitely… something in her voice when he tells her.  Not that she says much – she lets him ramble for a while about how convenient the whole thing, how Brie’s so hot even _he’s_ impressed, and how their chemistry is bound to resonate with the audiences.

“Sounds perfect for you,” she says, “though…you do know sexual tension is usually because you’re _not_ having sex when you want to be, right?”

“If that were true…” He doesn’t know how to finish his sentence – somehow he doesn’t think she’ll respond well to any of the things he’s thinking.  “Guess it explains why everyone thought _we_ were fucking.”

For a moment, he wishes he could see her face – it’s harder for her to hide things from him when he can see her face – but all she says is, “I don’t know what you think you’re getting at.  I gotta go.”

And then she hangs up – and she doesn’t call back.

Which… for fuck sake – if she wanted, _she_ could be the one who… it’s not like he hadn’t offered.  She doesn’t even text him for a week, and… and it’s weird for Amy to be this passive-aggressive about anything, let alone when he’s pissed her off.

If she’d just _say_ … he feels a sudden, rather startling, sympathy for Buddy.

Brie asks to come over one night – he suspects so she can badger him into calling Jonah – and he lets her, because he’d quite like to fuck her in a bed, at least once.  He’s never had the time to take all her clothes off.

As a result, he lets her stay over without complaint, and it’s only when she walks into the kitchen the next morning wearing Amy’s Penn State t-shirt, that he realises it may have been an error.

(He’d asked Amy what he should do with the things she’d left behind the first time she got in touch and, to his surprise, she’d told him to throw them away).

Seeing in Brie in Amy’s shirt – her dull grey, not even tightly fitting shirt – doesn’t seem right.  Brie’s so much hotter than that and… as _if_ she could get into Penn.  So, he pulls it off her, fucking her on the kitchen counter since he might as well.

But when she goes to pull it back over her head afterwards, Dan can’t help himself, he stops her – and giving her his own t-shirt in place of Amy’s clearly doesn’t do much to allay her suspicions.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding remotely sincere.  “You know, I really didn’t think you were the type to keep a shrine to your ex-girlfriend.”

“I don’t,” he says, “It’s just some stuff she… and she’s _not_ my ex-girlfriend.”

“Well with the way you’ve been the last few… she very soon will be.  I wouldn’t put up with that for one second.”

“I meant – we were never really dating.  It was a…trick, to get Jane off my back.  Who I _wasn’t_ fucking, by the way.”

“Whatever,” Brie says, clearly not caring one way or another.  “Did you fuck her… Amy, I mean?”

“Please, you don’t have to ask.”

“So, you were spending a lot of time with her, you were having sex… explain to me how that’s _not_ dating?”

“Because… because it was all just to get rid of Jane, it wasn’t –”

“Did you _tell_ her that?” Brie looks like she’s trying not to laugh.  “That poor girl.”

“What are you talking about, she knew… she had a _good_ time.  Better than she had with that glass of skim milk she was with.”

“Wow,” Brie says, snorting with laughter.  “That’s the most messed up thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What are you talking about?  It’s not the first time I’ve…found her useful.”

“Jesus.  You know, at first I thought she was badly off, but you…  It’s like talking to a Disney villain.”

“Get to the fucking point.”  (It’s not like they’ve ever spent much time talking – this may actually be the longest conversation they’ve had).

“I can’t believe I’m telling _you_ this, but… you _love_ her.”

“Brie,” he says, in the most patronising tone possible, “It’s sweet that you think I –”

“There’s nothing _sweet_ about loving someone,” she says, looking at him as though he’s stupid, or Jonah.  “It _sucks_.  This woman… you said she stopped talking to you after you left the White House.”

“Yeah, she fucked off to Nevada with an asshole who made her just as miserable without even – ”

“Right,” Brie says, still giving him that look.  “And when she dumped him and came back here, you didn't have a fight with her, you didn't question why she left, you just insisted that she…pretend to date you because –”

“Because I thought of it – Jane was making me look ridiculous, every day, and… I mean Amy was the obvious choice.”

“Obvious, really?  That's interesting.  And if you _hadn’t_ thought of it, you’d have let her…what, keep ignoring you and eventually date someone else?”

“She  wasn’t going to date anyone else,” he scoffs, “She was too…you know.”

“Heartbroken?”

“I’d have waited.”

“Waited for what?”

“Until she was… that asshole had her all twisted up, she was in no state for –”

“Dating someone?  So, you’d have waited until she was.”

“No,” he says.  “Maybe.  I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Brie says.  “I think you were always going to do _something_.  You two have some…convoluted history, right?”

“We had a… thing.  Years ago.  But it was just for my career, it wasn’t – ”

“Of course.  And you told her that too, didn’t you?”  Brie laughs.  “Jesus, Dan, did you ever consider telling her that you _like_ fucking her?  No wonder she dumped you.”

“She didn’t – we were never dating, so she didn’t dump me.”

“Right.  So why did you keep all of her stuff then?  Since it can’t be because you’re hoping she’ll take you back.”

“Please.  I’ve fucked like fifteen women since then.  I barely even remember her.”

“Right.  That’s why your neck all but snapped out of its socket when you saw me wearing her clothes.”

“No, it’s because…” He puts on his most ingratiating tone.  “You’re way too hot to be wearing Amy Brookheimer’s cast-offs.”

Brie’s reaction isn't quite what he expects, because she doesn’t even laugh.  “Do you think you’re fooling me with that?  Do you say things like that to _her_?  That poor girl.”

“Don’t feel sorry for her – she’s off with her new job now, she won’t even see me.”

“I’m not surprised.  Maybe you’ve never had a real relationship before, but most women don't stick around to be told how not fuckable they are.  _Especially_ if they…”

“If they what?”

“Dan, I don’t know why you’re pretending to be… none of this makes the slightest difference to me.  It’s perfectly obvious how she feels about you.  And you have her believing that, what, you practically have to give your dick a pep talk every time you’re in bed with her.  Do you think that’s going to make her want you more?”

“She doesn’t think that.  Come on.  _You_ know it’s bullshit.”

“I’m not in love with you – thank Christ.  It’s a horrible feeling – most people would do anything to get away from it.  I know I would.”

“Whatever,” he says, “Amy’s tougher than you think.”

“For her sake, I hope so.”

“She worked for Selina Meyer for _years_ , she’s not some wilting flower.  She didn’t even cry when I fucked her sister.”  (At least, not where he’d see).

“That’s even more messed up.  Were you trying to prove some weird kind of point?”

“No,” he says, “It was just – it doesn’t matter.  Anyway it was a whole year ago.”

“And therefore she should be over it?”

“It’s not as though I _liked_ Sophie – she didn’t have to take it so seriously.”

“You’re _amazing_ ,” Brie says.  “You treat this woman like shit, over and over, and you’re really surprised she didn’t stick around for more of the same?”

“Well, yeah.”  Dan says.  “If she loves me so fucking much, why would she leave me with nothing to do but chase after – ”

“Are you blaming her for your wandering dick?  It’s probably half the reason she left.  I mean, really – you’re a good fuck Dan, but you’re not exactly Husband Material, now are you?”

“I could have Amy if I wanted her.”

“Could you?”  Brie raises an eyebrow.  “Sounds like you asked her, and she turned you down.  Being your back-up lay isn’t going to be appealing for, oh, any woman with a pulse.”

“It worked for you.”

“Well, one, I’m not your back-up, and two… you’re not the main man in my life.  I saw how you were with that ex-boyfriend of hers – would you really be happy fucking her while she was with someone else?”

“She doesn’t _want_ to be with anyone else.”

“Oh, I think she does.  More than anything.  She jumps into an engagement with a guy all the way across the country, cuts off all contact with you and never mentions you to him.  She was running away – that’s probably what she’s doing now.”

“She’s texting me.”

“Well then she’s stupid,” Brie says, smoothing down her hair.  “If she was a friend of mine I’d tell her to ditch you and never look back.  You shouldn't underestimate the appeal of a genuinely nice man.  Especially after dealing with…”

“She said that… that human valium she was engaged to… she said he was kind.”

“There you go.”  Brie turns her back to him and gestures for Dan to zip up her dress.  “Do you realise how lucky you are?  She knows you – she knows what a shithead you are – and still… How does it feel to be loved that much?”

“You tell me – you’re the one with the wedding planner.”

Brie rolls her eyes, and for a second, just a second, she reminds him of Amy.  “Yeah, but that’s because, unlike you, I can actually admit to myself when I love someone.  Do you really think you’re fooling anyone but her?”

“But that’s why she was the obvious choice.”

“And maybe that’s why _Jane_ knew,” Brie says, and puts her shoes on.  “You should really think about calling that idiot friend of yours to talk about the shutdown, by the way.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Sure he’s not.  And she’s nothing to you either.”  Brie picks up her bag and kisses him quickly.  “I’ll say this for you – you’re a slut, but at least you take the time to do it properly.  And, I promise, I won’t tell anyone there are people out there you actually _like_.  Your secret’s safe with me.”

She leaves, and it crosses Dan’s mind that maybe Stevie was right, maybe they _don’t_ have any chemistry, because the thought of sitting through another conversation like that… not Husband Material?  Where does she get off?

She doesn’t know anything.  If he wanted to marry Amy, if he wanted a _real_ relationship with her, he could, he’s sure of it.  It’s not like her taste in men is so discriminating – she’d be happier with him than with any of the milquetoasts she kept trying to convince herself she wanted.  He’d never, not once, seen one of them make her laugh – and he knew, he _knew_ that none of them made her shiver the way he did.

Once Brie is gone he strongly considers throwing away Amy’s stuff – it’s not like she’ll miss any of it, there’s nothing that can’t be replaced – but instead he just moves it all to the lowest, smallest drawer he can find, where… people are less likely to stumble across it.

There isn’t much – a hairbrush and face wipes and pyjamas, the dress she’d worn to the Meyer Foundation fundraiser and a tiny make-up kit.  All in all, Amy’s stuff takes up almost no room, and if it wasn’t for the new sofa in his living room (that she’d never actually slept on), he’d never know that she’d been there.

It’s not that he misses her – fucking Brie three times a week is a lot less work, and doesn’t disrupt his schedule one tenth as much – but he finds himself more and more…frustrated.  Talking to Amy on the phone once in a blue moon – it’s more than he had, he gets that, he knows he has to be on his best behaviour, or she won’t even give him that much, but…

It’s her _presence_ he wants, the warm, solid weight of her body on his, the scent of her lingering in his bed and on his fingers, the play of expression on her face when she’s trying to decide whether to kiss him or kill him.  Her voice on the phone is a very poor substitute.

He doesn’t express this to her – she’s already blowing him off every time he suggests a meeting, and if she knows… if she realises he has _intentions_ , she’ll clam up completely.

She knows he has some, obviously, she’s not an idiot, but she probably thought it was just sex he was after.  Which, if Amy was any other woman, would be true, but… that’s not enough.

Every time she calls him she talks about her job and his job and skirts away from anything vaguely personal and… he keeps remembering how it felt when she threw herself into his arms, eager and happy and _his_.  He’s happier, and she’s definitely happier, when they’re together, so why can’t she just… _admit_ it?

Well, she will eventually, he’s going to make her, but… the way she keeps trying to avoid him is just… time-wasting, as far as Dan is concerned.  Why she keeps resisting when the result is inevitable…  If they were still working together, things would never have dragged out this long, that’s for sure.

But he can bide his time.  Amy only _thinks_ she knows him, but he wore her down before, didn’t he?  She used to practically spit venom every time she saw him, but now…

When he considers the prospect of another year like the last one – not hearing from her, not talking to her, not having her at all, seeing her with some white bread prick – something clenches in his gut.  She’s not running away again, he won’t let her.

Months pass. 

He fucks Brie, fucks Rebecca, fucks whoever will have him, and tries to cling on to his position at CBS.  He gets drunk one night and calls Amy, telling her he’s going to be fired, Jane’s pushing him out, nothing he’s tried has worked.  There’s something almost affectionate in her crisp tone of voice when she tells him to go to sleep, to drink a glass of water, he’ll regret it in the morning if he doesn’t.

“I never regret anything,” he says.  “Not even the stupid things.”

“So you admit you’ve done stupid things?” Amy says.  “I might have to record this.”

“One or two,” he says.  “But most of them are to do with you.”

There’s a pause, and then she says, “I don’t think you want to be telling me this Dan.  And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear it.”

“I shouldn’t have let you leave, I should have _made_ you stay.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”  Amy sighs.  “You’d only have broken… at least this way we’re talking, right?”

“I don’t want to _talk_ to you.”

“How drunk _are_ you?”

“Too drunk for phone sex if that’s what you –”

“No,” Amy says.  “I don’t know who’d be more embarrassed the next morning.”

He chuckles, because he can’t help it.  “You would be,” he says.  “I bet you’re _terrible_ at dirty talk – you’d get all shy and awkward and you wouldn’t even be able to _look_ at me.”

“Is that… are you turned on by that?”

“I wish you were here.  Jesus, Ames, I wouldn’t care if you were wearing those stupid granny pyjamas and staying all the way on the other side of the bed, so long as you were here.”

“I only wore those because it was fucking freezing in New Hampshire.  We can’t all conjure up a human hot water bottle every time we feel like it.”

“You could have,” he says.  “You could have climbed in with me anytime you wanted.”

“No, I couldn’t.”  Amy’s voice sounds sad.  “You were taking your pick of the interns, remember?”

“Well you were barely speaking to me – you talked to Jonah almost as much as you did to me.”

“Because you were being a _dick_.  Every five minutes it was ‘Amy, you’re not hot, Amy, I slept with your sister, Amy, I would rather fuck literally any one else on the planet, and did I mention I slept with your sister?’  I got sick of it.”

“You could have said something.”

“What would have been the point?  You were clearly enjoying yourself.”

“I just like being able to piss you off more than anyone else.”

“Well, congratulations, you did.  I knew you wouldn’t stop, so… I did.  And every time you pissed me off, I texted Buddy.”

“So it’s _my_ fault you fucked off with him?”

“No,” Amy sighs again.  “I think I can take responsibility for that particular bad decision myself.   But… you didn’t help.  I know you know this, but you’re very, very good at making people feel unwanted.”

“I could be calling Rebecca or Brie or – ”

“Go ahead.  What, am I supposed to feel honoured that you’re drunk-dialing me?”

“Yeah.  They’re no good.  Brie doesn’t even know what the judicial branch _is_ – it’s like talking to a bar of soap.”

“Since all you seem to need is someone moaning, ‘Dan, I’m so wet’ in your ear, I doubt that matters much.”

“Do I make _you_ wet Amy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Are you going to have to deal with it when I hang up?  If you were here I’d do it for you.”

“You’re drunk out of your mind – you wouldn’t have the coordination.”

“I’d find a way.  It’d be worth it – it was so fucking hard having you here so many times, staying so far away, and –”

“I wouldn’t do that now.”

“I know you wouldn’t.  You’re a _cuddler_.”  He smiles, remembering how it felt.  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“No one would ever believe you held a woman after sex anyway.”

“Well, you are a very special snowflake, Amy.  I wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there too.”  She mustn’t have meant to say it, because she hurries on.  “But you should sleep – you have to deal with Jane, and Brie, and – ”

“Come over.”

“You know I can’t.  And you _promised_.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You –”

“I let you leave once – the word promise never came out of my mouth.  Come over.”

“Fortunately for both us, I _can’t._   I’m in DC tonight.  And… don’t take it back, please.  You’ll only make me hate you.”

“Well, I don’t want that,” he says.  “But I do want you here now.  How do we square that circle?”

“I don’t know,” Amy says.  “But in five minutes you’ll fall asleep, and when you wake up you won’t want me anymore, you won’t even remember…so, it’s not going to be a problem for long.”

“Brie was right.”  He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he does.  “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You _talked_ to her about me?”

“Well it came up – she was wearing your t-shirt.”

“She was wearing my – goodnight Dan.”

All the warmth has drained out of her voice, but he can’t help himself.  “Drinks soon?”

“Probably not, no.  Just get fucking _Brie_ to wear a shirt dress, and –”

“Don’t be jealous.”

“ _You’re_ saying that?  Unbelievable.”

“It wasn’t, like, a sex thing.”

“I really _don’t_ want to know.”

“I wouldn’t even be fucking her if you were here.”

“That’s not true.”

“How would you know – you never gave me a chance.”

“Dan, you had _multiple_ chances.  And every time, you’ve made it clear that I’m not enough, I’m _not_ what you… _stop_ doing this to me.”  He hears her swallow, and when she continues, she sounds calmer.  “Being made a fool of on Page 6 wasn’t enough to keep you from fucking around, so there’s no way my being upset would stop you.”

“Ames,” he says.  “You’re the only one I want right now.”

“Right now.”

“Come for drinks soon – I’ve been a fucking idiot, but… we can fix this.”

“Maybe.”  Her voice is weary.  “I’ll call you.  Don’t push me.”

“I won’t.”

“Goodnight, Dan.  Sleep well.”

He’d sleep better if she was with him, he knows, but… but he does, all the same.  Because he knows now, knows what he needs to do.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t drunk-dial her again, and he stops barraging her with text messages, no matter how much he wants to.  She thinks he’s just using her, just wants her when she’s convenient for him, when he’s in need of a shoulder to cry on (figuratively) or a quick lay.

So, he waits for an occasion when _she’ll_ need him.

Fortunately, Mike’s incompetence isn’t long in providing one, and when the diary story breaks Dan jumps on the opportunity, suggesting they go for drinks to commiserate about their imminent joblessness and / or jail time.  That Ben is there is…aggravating, but nothing he can’t handle – and fortunately, he shoots off relatively early, meaning Dan can focus all of his attention on Amy.

She’s planning a number of creative ways to ruin Mike’s life, and he has to ask, “Why are you _this_ angry?  It’s not like his complete lack of anything approaching competence is new?”

“Because… well, one, because we could end up going to prison.”

“You’d be fine – you’d find some Selina-type to serve within a week.  And I don’t care _what_ Buddy told you, the clitoris is not that hard to find.”

“Moving on from the soft-porn female prison of your imagination –”

“Why?  I’m enjoying it.”

Amy rolls her eyes.  “Abigail was going to offer me a permanent position at her consultancy.”

“And she’s changed her mind?”

“They’ve opted not to extend my contract.”

“You mean you got _fired_?”  He really shouldn’t enjoy this as much as he does.  “I’m so proud.  Don’t worry – it’s only the first time that really hurts.”

“Thanks, I think,” Amy says, looking unsure.  “Just once I’d like to work for a candidate who didn’t make me toxic.”

“Yeah, but a lot of that’s in your head babe.  What did _Jack_ have to say about all of this?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Amy’s glaring at him.  “This jealousy thing isn’t _cute_.”

“Are you dating him?”

“That’s none of your –”

“Are you?”

“No.”  Amy downs her whiskey before continuing.  “We’ve gone out for drinks a few times, but that’s it.  I don’t want to rush anything.”

“Learned that the hard way, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Amy says, glaring at him.  “I did.  This time I want to know what kind of shit he is before –”

“You know exactly what kind of shit _I_ am.”

“Yeah, the manipulative, heartless –”  He puts his hand over hers, and Amy stops speaking abruptly, her eyes going wide.  Finally she says, “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Why?”  He strokes her wrist, and insinuates his thumb into the palm of her hand.

“You make it really hard to be around you.”

“Because you want to jump my bones?”

Amy sighs.  “Because I know this is just…boredom or some fucked up possessive… I know it’s not real.”

“No,” Dan says.  He cups her cheek with his other hand and leans in close.  “You don’t.  Come home with me.”

Amy meets his eyes, and she’s so close he can see every breath she takes, can track the process of her thoughts, can almost see her making her decision.

“I think,” she says, biting her lip.  “That would be a mistake.”

“So?”

“So, I have made enough mistakes this year to fill a book… Mike’s book.”

“I don’t care about that,” he says, tracing her lower lip with his thumb.  “I want you.”

For a moment he thinks he’s won her over, but then Amy shrugs, trying to look careless.  “I’m sure you’ll find an adequate substitute somewhere.”

He can see it in her face, just how much saying that hurts her, and it pisses him off – if she’d just stop _doing_ this to herself, they could already be…

“I’m leaving,” she says.  “I’ve got to meet Selina tomorrow, early, see if we can think our way out of this one.”

“Right.”

“You can’t be pissed at me.”

“I’m not,” he says.  Technically, it’s true.  _She’s_ not to blame for it, though she _is_ being damned stubborn.

He thinks about staying for another drink or two, but his heart just isn’t in it, and he slopes off home only a few minutes after she leaves.

It’s been a shitty day – he’s lost his job, his reputation is in the toilet, Amy shot him down – and when he gets home, he leans back against his front door for a moment.  If he were the kind of person who got depressed… but he isn’t, and tempting though it is to text Rebecca, or someone, he doesn’t.  Sure it would be fun in the moment, but he’d only feel worse when the sex was over and they wanted to talk or stay over or whatever.  If he can’t have Amy, he’d rather not bother, and so his phone stays resolutely in his pocket.

He all but jumps out of his skin when there’s a knock on his door, and it takes him a minute or so to turn and open it.  Which is long enough to collect himself, because he knows, he just knows who’s waiting for him.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

He can’t help it – he smiles at her aggravated tone.  “I had it on silent.”

Amy leans against the doorframe, not quite in and not quite out of his apartment.  “This better not mean you’ve got, like, a threesome going on in there or something.”

“Nope,” he says, stepping closer to her.  “I was too busy pining over you.”

He means it to sound at least somewhat serious, but he’s too happy to see her, he can’t stop grinning.  Amy wrinkles her nose.  “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not,” Dan says, and he’s close enough to finally pull her into the apartment properly and push her up against the door.  She’s all but trembling when he bends to kiss her, and her mouth falls open for him, just so, giving him everything he wants, letting him in.

When they finally break the kiss, Amy leans her head back against the door, seemingly overwhelmed.  “I really fucking hate you sometimes.”

“Really?”  He kisses her neck.  “I’ve never hated you.”

“Well of course not.”  She sounds impatient.  “Everyone… even Leon West likes me.  I’m ‘adorable’.”

“Sounds like I’ll have to up my game,” Dan says, and resumes kissing her, sucking her skin hard.

“I wish you weren’t so good at this, that’s… _ow_.”  She pulls his head up sharply.  “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” he doesn’t even attempt to sound sincere.

Amy brings her hand to her neck for a moment.  “That’s going to leave a mark.”

“That was the idea.”

She rolls her eyes, and starts to push him back into the apartment.  “Listen to me you fucking underdeveloped australopithecus, this… tonight… doesn’t change anything.”

“Okay,” he says, removing her scarf and placing her handbag on the table.

“Just because I’ve come over this one time, does not mean I am at your beck and call, you understand?”

“Yes.”  He pushes her coat off his shoulders, letting it land on the floor.

“I wouldn’t even be here if there wasn’t a very good chance of one or both of us going to prison.”

“Sure you wouldn’t,” he says, unbuttoning her dress.  “That’s why you wore a shirt dress again.”

She grabs his hands.  “I’m serious.”

“So am I.  And it would really help if you would shut the fuck up and let me go down on you so we can get things started.”

Amy tries, oh she _tries_ , to look annoyed with him, but it’s impossible for anyone to maintain a serious expression when they’re that turned on.  And, for all her effort, she still lets him push her down on to the sofa, cooperating all too eagerly with his efforts to take her remaining clothes off. 

She’s lost a little of her shyness, Dan thinks, curving her body more emphatically into him, steering his head with her hands, and letting him know with her moans when he’s got it right.  He’s never taken direction well, he knows, but somehow… it’s different when it’s Amy, she's an exception.

Still, he’s surprised when, just as she seems to be getting close, she hauls his head up, using his tie almost as a leash.

“Something wrong?”  She shakes her head, and then he _gets_ it.  “When you come you want it to be around my cock.”

Amy narrows her eyes at him.  “Despite you being an _ass_ …  Yes.  Yes, I do.  So, unless you have a problem with that, I suggest you bring me to your bed and take your pants off right fucking now.”

“I never knew you were so demanding.”

“Damn right I am.  Now are you going to do something about it?”

Rather than answer her, he picks her up and carries her to the bedroom – given half a chance, she’ll talk herself out of this burst of confidence, and she’s too much fun when she's like this for him to allow that.

He must have done a better job turning her on than even he had thought, because she comes far sooner than he’d expected, collapsing onto his chest while he’s still hard inside her.  She’s too overwhelmed to keep moving, and so he takes over, rolling her onto her back and chasing his own release, pulling her body into the position that’s best for him and pounding into her as fast as he can stand.

Amy eggs him on if anything, whispering nonsense in his ear and pressing her palms into the small of his back, pulling him in deeper, clenching her thighs around him, and fucking _moaning_ when he…

He’s not sure who’s more surprised when she comes with him, but there’s no mistaking it.  She all but sobs when the second orgasm hits her, and he’d make some smart remark, but he’s too far gone himself.

It’s a few minutes later when he can lift his head long enough to say, “Fucking _twice_.”

“That’s never happened to me before.”  She sounds like she’s talking more to herself than to him, like she’s genuinely startled, but her reverie doesn’t last.  “Go on – say it.”

“Say what?”

Amy rolls her eyes at his teasing tone.  “How you’re the best lover I ever had and this proves it and I’ve never had sex this good in my life.”

“Well, if you say so.”

She almost doesn’t smile, but all she says is, “Ass.”

“It’s always nice to be noticed, Amy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m noticing you now.  Get off, you’re too heavy.”

For all that she sounds irritated, she curls up beside him, propping her head up with one hand and stroking his chest with the other.  But she doesn’t say anything, and finally, to break the silence, Dan asks, “Like what you see?”

“That’s never been the problem, and you know it.”

“Oh _really_?”

“Fuck off Dan – you’re good-looking, and you damn well _know_ you’re good-looking, you don’t need me to – and you should be grateful, cause I promise you, it’s not your personality that attracts women.”

“It worked for you.”

“Well I need many years of therapy, I think that’s obvious.”

“Don’t complain – all that practice is why I was able to get you off _twice_.”

“You’re never letting that one go, are you?”

“I’m sorry, did _Buddy_ ever manage that feat?”

Amy shrugs, not quite looking at him.  “Buddy didn’t really enjoy sex with me, so –”

“What?”

“He needed… it took me a while to realise, but unless I… unless I acted like some ‘degrade me harder’ pornstar he didn’t – he didn’t get anything from it.”

It takes him a second to put all the pieces together, but when he does… it all kind of clicks.  Not that Amy notices, because she’s talking, words spilling out like they’ve been locked up inside her for too long. 

“I realised it one night, after we visited my parents, and he kept… he kept pushing me to playact like some fucking geisha, and…”

“And?”

“And I started to… I started to hate it.  I started to hate _him_.  He made it so obvious I wasn’t…enough, just me, you know.”

And that’s the poisonous nub of it, Dan thinks, the part she really can’t forgive, the part that still stings.  In a way, he’s grateful – if she’d been happier she might have stayed in Nevada – but, all the same, he’s willing to bet this is half the reason she’s been so… nervy, all the time.

Seriously, _fuck_ Buddy Calhoun.

“I saw his interview – that man is desperate for any crumb from your table.  You’ve got it all wrong – he just didn’t _know_ you.”

“Maybe.”

“He thought you were some hard-bitten Washington hell-bitch.”

“I _am_ ,” Amy says, and then catches herself.  “I mean, in a good way.”

“You try to be,” Dan says, lifting her hand to his lips.  “But you’re a sweetheart, deep down.  I ought to know.”

“You only think that.  You _think_ you’re so ruthless, but you’ve never hurt anyone you actually cared about – you’ve never given up anything that _mattered_ to you.”

“Oh, and you have?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do – is it in Mike’s diary?”

“I leaked a story,” Amy says, and she’s watching him _very_ carefully.  “About Ray.”

“But Jonah got that from – ”

“I did an accent,” Amy says.  “He never even suspected.  I never thought… you weren’t supposed to… I didn’t want to _hurt_ you.”

“No, you just wanted my job.”

“Yes,” she says, “I did.  And I did it better too.”

“And you took me to the hospital to what, gloat?”

“No,” Amy says, “That’s what _you_ would do, because you’re a dick.  I was _worried_ about you – you were yelling about chest pains and falling over and I’ve never seen you like that.  Would you rather I let Mike do it, or Gary?”

He remembers what that day was like, the falling sensation that wouldn’t go away, the way everything, even his thoughts, seemed to float out of his grasp, the sick feeling that swallowed him up.

And he remembers her, steady and sure and unsympathetic, forcing him to focus on her, on her voice.  He remembers how much he’d wanted to hold her hand.

Amy must be watching his face, because as he thinks all of this, she says, “It’s not a nice feeling, is it?  When you trusted someone.”

“Fair enough,” he says, and pulls her in for a kiss.  “You get one, Brookheimer.  But don’t mess with me like that again.”

He’s on to her.  There’s a _reason_ she’s telling him this now, a reason she’s trying to put up yet another wall between them.  He must be getting closer than he’d thought.

 

* * *

 

She tries to sneak out on him the next morning, but he catches her.  Her mouth tastes of his toothpaste, and when he lifts her onto the sink, all she says is, “Don’t fuck up my hair.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says and immediately fists his hand in it, pulling her to him.  He’s not rough with her – he has his faults, but the appeal of even _seeming_ to hurt a woman has always eluded him – but he's more…forceful than he has been, stronger.  He wants her to _feel_ all the places he’s touched her after she leaves.

Afterwards, when Amy has caught her breath, she kisses both his cheeks and says, “I’m going to miss this in prison you know.”

“Perjury has a very short sentence.  You can do without me for a whole year.”

“Yeah,” Amy says.  “But it’s… you wouldn’t know, but it’s really hard to go so long without even getting to touch… there were times when it felt like I was starving.”

“You could have told me – I’d have done something about it.”

“No, I couldn’t.  You don’t understand what it’s like – you’ve probably slept with more people in the last three months than I have in my entire life.”

“Probably.”

She doesn’t laugh.  “You don’t _know_ … you’ve never been lonely that way…and it’s not like genuine human contact is important to you to begin with.  Sometimes, I swear, sometimes, it feels like I might fly into pieces if I don’t –”

“No wonder you can never relax.”

She laughs then.  “Yes, Dan, it’s just that I need a good fuck, that’s why I’m wound up and tense and stressed all the time, that’s the only reason.  You have no idea what that’s like – but maybe you will soon.”

“If I get a long sentence would you come for conjugal visits?”

“I won’t marry you so you can still have sex in prison – you can find someone else to take on that joyful task.”

“So there’s a situation in which you _would_ marry me?”

Amy stares at him, mouth open, and he grins… it’s been far too long since he’s managed to shock her this much.  Finally, she slaps at his shoulder, tries to push his hands off her.  “Dream the fuck on.”

“Got to start thinking long-term, Ames, and it’s useful to know what my options are.”

“You’ve never thought long-term in your life.  And I am not an ‘option,’ Jesus Christ.”

“Well that’s a shame.”

He kisses her again, soft this time (Amy’s not used to softness, tenderness, she doesn’t know how to react to it), and stays close, pressing his face to hers.  “You don’t want to answer me because you’re afraid you’ll say yes.”

“You are scaring me right now, you know that?  How are you going to pay to have this brain tumour treated when you don’t even have a job?”

“My wife will have health insurance.”

“Your wife will be the saddest woman on the planet.  You’re not built to be anyone’s husband.”

“So, what, you’re just using me for sex until ‘something real’ comes along?”

“Well… yeah,” Amy looks baffled.  “I thought that’s what you’d want.  And I won’t apologise for wanting something…more than that someday.  When my prison term is up.”

“Right,” he says, and steps away from her. 

Amy gives him a searching look.  “Why are you being like this?  You’ve never wanted… you’re happy with your gym sessions and your Harrison Ford movies and five different women every week.  You’re happier than I am.”

“Just not Husband Material.”

She hops down from the sink, pulling her skirt down and giving herself a quick wipe with his face towel.  “Well, no.  I’m not insane.  Don’t give me that look – you’re the one… you chose that.  And if you eventually marry someone, that poor woman… she’s going to be miserable.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

She shakes her head at him.  “Did someone bruise your ego and that’s what’s brought this on?”

“Tell me Ames, what is something ‘real’?  What do you even think that is?”

“It’s really not that hard – someone I can talk to all day and fuck all night and never have to… pretend to be anything else, to be sexy or fun or any of those things, with.  Someone who doesn’t give a shit that I’m uptight and bitchy and _shrill_.  And maybe that doesn’t exist, but…still.”  She shrugs.  “Anyway, until then… I’ve got you, right?”

She kisses him goodbye, and he listens to her leave, and tries to feel positive, because at least… at least she didn’t feel the need to remind him that this was a one-time thing.

He’s getting closer.  He thinks.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without wishing to seem like I'm assigning homework, for this chapter, it may be worth re-reading chapter 19 of Behind the Scenes, if you want to keep track of just how AU this AU gets. (Or not - ideally it should probably stand on its own).

He’s not going to prison.

He’d always known it was unlikely, of course, but it’s a relief to have certainty all the same.

With the news that Selina Meyer had been brutally slandered by Montez, her genuine achievements ignored and her honest mistakes blown up into ludicrous scandals, his reputation has improved considerably.  It used to be, he’d create opportunities by finding an open pair of legs, but now… now people are seeking him out because he’s competent. 

At fucking _last_ Ben and Kent have admitted he’s good for something beyond fucking.

When he tells Amy he’s going back to D.C. she seems unsure how to react.  He’d suggested a celebratory brunch, because… come on, after the amount of shit they’ve both had to wade through they deserve to bask in their success for a little while, ideally with each other.  That’s what he tells her at least, while plying her with mimosas and waffles. 

“I don’t understand,” she says, “You seemed to really enjoy it at CBS, why would –”

“Well I’m not at CBS anymore, am I?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean – don’t tell me there haven’t been offers.”

“Some,” he says, shrugging.  “But look how quickly they shitcanned me – look what they did to Jane.  It was deserved but… there’s no actual power there.”

“And who is Dan Egan without power?”

“That’s what I’m saying, sugar.”

He grins, and Amy smiles back in spite of herself.  “You’re like a snail,” she says, “You just pick up and leave without even – ”

“Need I remind you just how quickly you abandoned Buddy?”

“That was different.”

“Oh, really?  Enlighten me.”  He refills her glass and raises an eyebrow.

“I was actually… I am capable of being attached to things – to people – I can’t just… I’ve never just –”

“You’re sad because you’re going to miss my pretty face.  I understand.”

“Believe me, if I want to be annoyed and sexually harassed at the same time, I can find plenty of people to do it.”

“So I shouldn’t let you know if there’s an opportunity in D.C.?”

Amy’s face twists in bemusement.  “What are you talking about?”

“With me – with _us_.  Think about it – you could get the hell away from Selina.  From what you’ve told me, that’s got to be good for your mental health, right?”

Amy looks at him for a long moment.  She seems to be picking her words carefully.  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why, because we fucked?”  He holds up a hand against her inevitable protest.  “That was true the last time we worked together, and it turned out fine.”

“Sure it did.  That’s why we didn’t speak for a year afterwards.”

“No, that was because I was a dick.”

“Well, yeah,” Amy says.  “At least you can admit it.  But I still think –”

He laughs.  “Are you saying you value our relationship more than a career opportunity?”

“ _No_.  Please.  I’m saying…”  Her voice trails off, and she looks at the table for a moment.  “I’m not you.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware.”

“I can’t just…slide from one thing to the next without… without even a plan.  I don’t know what to do, Dan.”

It’s the most honest she’s been with him in a long time, and… he both gets it and doesn’t.  The Amy he knows wouldn’t be this thrown by a job offer, so it’s definitely not that.  Maybe it’s him, or maybe not, but there must be _something_.  Maybe she’s only freaked because her last step away from Selina didn’t exactly end so well.”

“Look,” he says, “This isn’t some leap into the unknown.  You already know everything about me.”

“Yeah, that’s why I have so many sleepless nights.”

“And if either Ben or Kent was going to reveal themselves as a drunken sexual harasser, I think they would have done it by now.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?  Running Selina’s Library or whatever is not going to make you happy.  And… we both know we’re better together.”

She gives him a sceptical look.  “You just want someone to look at everyday who’s prettier than Kent.”

“Please, if that’s what I was after… we have a receptionist.”

“Nice.”

“Don’t get me wrong – you do have _such_ pretty blonde hair, Ames.  And your rack is fucking _glorious_ –”

“Dan!”

“What, it’s true?  I can go on if you want.”

“No,” Amy says, though she doesn’t sound too sure.  He’s tempted to keep going and really mess with her, make her _blush_.  “Look,” she continues, “I’ll think about it.  Really.”

“Think hard,” he says, and she rolls her eyes at him, which does nothing to diminish his – he can admit childish – desire to pull her, pinch her, tickle her until she explodes.  There’s something about making her lose control that will always appeal to him, and since she’s unlikely to let him get her off in the restaurant bathroom, annoying her is his best option.

This brunch wasn’t a date, of course, because they’re not dating, they're just...seeing each other (and if Amy wants to keep that little fiction going, if it makes her comfortable, he’s going to let her have it – for now).

Which means, when they’re saying goodbye outside the restaurant, he can see her start to get tangled up in the social awkwardness of what, if anything, she should do.  Knowing Amy, she’ll eventually opt for the most business-like option possible and shake his hand or something.

So, he pre-empts her, pressing his lips to hers as gently as he knows how.

Much as he’d expected, she softens immediately, opening her mouth to the first swipe of his tongue, and surging up into him.  It’s only when he slides his hand under her sweater, laying it flat against the bare skin of her back, that she breaks the kiss.

She rests her forehead in the hollow of his neck for a moment, and it’s not until Dan taps his fingers against the small of her back that she looks up at him.  When he wiggles his eyebrows at her all she says is, “Damn you.”

“Because I’m so _good_ at this?”

“I meant what I said.”

“Sure you did.”

She draws back then, and her tone is considerably chillier.  “Don’t _push_ me on this.”

“I’m not trying to… hard as it seems to be for you to believe, sometimes I want you just as much as you want –”

“ _Some_ times.  Maybe that’s even true.  Or maybe you’re so pissed off at me daring to say no to you that –”

“Do I seem pissed off?”

“I know enough not to rely on how you _seem_.  Probably you only want to make me give in and date you or whatever so you know that you _can_.  And once you get bored you’ll dump me with a tweet or something.”

Sometimes her knowing him so well really is a curse.  “You’re never boring,” he says, and means it.

“Well, all the same.  Welcome to the real world.  Sometimes people just don’t want you the same way you want them.”

He’s earned this, he knows that.  It’s his own fault that she’s so wary, his own fault that she believes each and every thing he does is fake, but… that doesn’t make it less frustrating.  “Some day, you know,” he says, “You’re going to stop being afraid of me.”

“Having rational boundaries doesn’t mean I’m afraid.  You're not scary.”

“Well good.  You’ll take the job in D.C. then?”

She laughs.  “Very subtle Dan, very.  I almost don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’ll take almost baby.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Sorry,” he says, not at all repentant.  “Guess I’ll have to come up with something else.”  He smooths one hand down her hair, strokes her cheek with his thumb.

“Someday I’m going to _make_ you take your head out of your ass, and you are not going to enjoy it one bit.”

“Oh Amy.  We both know that’s not true.”

She shakes her head at him, but she’s smiling, still, she can’t help it.

When she texts him the next day, he decides to consider it a win.  Almost as soon as he leaves for D.C. she starts texting him more, calling him more.  He can’t help but suspect that she’s using the distance as a kind of safety blanket – giving into his demands and letting him in a little, because there’s no risk of letting him in a lot.

Which is fine by him.  He knows how to maximise his opportunities after all, and by the time they’ve hit the New Year, they’re talking almost every night.  He even surprises himself by feeling grumpy the one or two times she blows him off to spend time with her family or whatever.

The day she comes to BKD to talk about the job he knew they’d wind up offering her, she’s… _gorgeous_.  Relaxed and glowing and at home, smiling at him like she belongs there.

She seems mildly freaked at the thought of leaving Selina, but he was expecting that and he was ready for it.  Once that little wobble is over, and Ben and Kent are bickering over which sushi restaurant to go to, he brings her into his office – or, more accurately, their office.

“Is this part of you fluffing me?”

“I can fluff you a lot better than this and you know it.”

“That is no where in evidence.”

“Yeah?  One word, Amy.  _Twice_.”

 “Grow up.”  She looks around her.  “It is a nice office though – big.”

“Plenty of room for you to blow me whenever you want to shut me up.”

“A professional way of resolving our differences.”

“It’s not my fault office furniture gets you hot.”

“That was a one-time thing.”

“Pity.”

“And my working here does not mean –”

“I know it doesn’t _mean_ … Can’t blame me for hoping though.”

“I’m going to keep a bottle of water with a spray nozzle on my desk if you don’t –”

“The ball’s in your court, I get it,” he says.  “Okay?  I’m not fucking Teddy.”

“No,” Amy says, as though it pains her to admit it.  “You’re not.”

“But I am craving the taste of fish,” he says, putting a hand on her lower back to steer her out of the office.  “So…”

Amy rolls her eyes, and slaps at his shoulder, but lets him escort her to lunch, staying close to him the entire time.  Ben raises his eyebrows at Dan, but doesn’t say anything – she’s in such a good mood, it’d be a shame to spoil it. 

It’s unfortunate, but he has to leave early to meet Roger Furlong, meaning he doesn’t get to say a proper goodbye (not that he’d stick his tongue down her throat in front of Ben and Kent).  Still, he’s rather surprised that she calls him an hour later.

He’s walking back from the Capitol, his pace brisk since it’s fucking freezing, and he answers at least partly so he’ll have a distraction.  She sounds…odd.

“Dan, Dan, we’re fucked, we’re totally fucked.”

“Oh-kay,” he says, rather startled by her tone.  “Care to tell me why?”

“I can’t, I… I’m freaking out.  This wasn’t the plan, at all, this wasn’t something I – ”

“Ames,” he says, “Calm the fuck down.  Selina will get over it, okay.”

“Selina?”

“She can’t be expecting you to work with her _forever_ , and if she does she’s even more –”

“What are you talking about?”

“The job – that’s why you’re – Amy, what is going on?”

There’s a long pause, and he hears the sound of a car horn over the phone.  “Nothing.”

It’s definitely _not_ nothing, he’s not an idiot.  “Where are you?  I’ll come meet – ”

“No!”  She sounds almost panicked, and he hears her take a deep breath before she continues.  “I’m in the car, I’ve already left and… and it’s probably nothing, I’m probably freaking out over nothing.”

He’s never known Amy to panic, not once, so he has to ask.  “Are you safe to drive right now?  If you crash into a tree or something –”

She hangs up, and Dan’s left staring at his phone, trying to work out what the hell just happened.  It’s not like Amy to get rattled easily, and that she’d called him… he’s missing something here.

Which is why, when he gets back to the office, his first question to Ben and Kent is “What the hell did you do to her?”

“Excuse me?”

“I left her with you two, she was fine, and then an hour later she calls me having some kind of meltdown.”

“Ah,” Kent says, looking significantly at Ben.

“Guess you two finally went for that nightcap after all.”

“What?”

“I simply mentioned,” Kent says, spreading his hands out placatingly, “That my sister craved ice cream both times she was pregnant.”

“Since she was damn near licking the plate,” Ben adds.

“Now, why that would worry Amy, I don’t know.  But she called you.”

Dan sits down heavily in one of their overpriced office chairs.  “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah, word of advice, Danny boy,” Ben says, “If she tells you she’s knocked up, _don’t_ say that.  She must be scared out of her mind already if you’re the daddy, she doesn’t need you making it worse.”

“It’s not possible,” he says, thinking of the doctor, of her saying he couldn’t be a sperm donor.

“Well then there’s nothing to worry about.  So, get your head in the game before the meeting.”

He does.  Admittedly, between meetings, he spends half an hour googling ‘low sperm motility’ and falls into an internet blackhole of “pregnancy is still possible” and, okay, the doctor really should have given him more details, because he doesn’t remember any of this being said.

Amy doesn’t call him that night, or the next, which feels ominous.  By the third night of silence he’s so wound up that he calls a fuck-buddy from back in the day, Kim, and convinces her to come see him.

He’d hoped it would stop his mind from racing, slow his thoughts down a little, but… she leaves almost as soon as it’s over (she’d never really liked him much) and he’s left in the dark, stuck with the same anxieties circling in his mind.

If Amy’s pregnant… he knows there’s a chance – a very good chance – that she’ll want to keep it.  And that means…

He has never wanted kids.  He has never wanted a wife or a family or any of those things that served only to make people miserable.  He’s a selfish asshole and always has been, and it’s never bothered him in the least.

But if he fucks off… if he tells Amy she’s on her own… she’ll never speak to him again.  It was sheer chance she was speaking to him now (except of course, she wasn’t).  If Buddy Calhoun had been even a little less terrible, had treated her the way she deserved to be treated…  She would never have come back to him,

And if he lets her down on this…

He tries calling her a couple of times, but she never answers, which only fuels his fears.  Something had to have changed for her to go radio silent like this, and since there’s no way she knows about Kim…

When Ben proposes taking on Selina’s new campaign, it’s almost a relief to have something else to think about.  Now that Montez has been exposed as a fraud, they’re in with a real chance, and he’s finally Director of Communications the way he always should have been.

When they tell Amy she seems pleased – excited – even relieved (especially when Selina confirms she still has a job).  But she never quite looks at him.  It’s only when, after they’ve drunk the champagne and everyone is preparing to go for dinner, and he says, “Amy, a word?” that she meets his eye.

“We should really go with –”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Amy, talk to him,” Selina says, not bothering to look at either of them.  “If nothing else, maybe it’ll stop you moping all the time.”

“I didn’t - I wasn't –”

“Don’t care,” Selina says, putting her coat on.  “We’ll text you the restaurant.”

And then she’s gone, and the two of them are left in her office, Amy standing on the opposite side from him, crossing her arms over her chest.  “So,” he says, “What’s up?”

“Well… you got your wish.  We’re going to be working together again.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t really what I was talking about.”

“Oh?”

“Last time you got it into your head to blank me it was because I… Amy what’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s all fine, I –”

“Fine?  You practically had a breakdown on the phone to me not that long ago, and then you called Ben the very next day, double-checking that the offer was solid.”

“He told you about that?”

“It came up.  He seemed to think I should know.”

“Well that’s _his_ decision.”

“Amy, just tell me.  We’ll fucking deal with it, whatever it is, if we have to, but –”

“Maybe I don’t _want_ to.”

“I’m not about to wait around until after you decide to take off for Hawaii or Alaska or Guam or wherever you think is far enough this time, so –”

“Dan,” she says, her stance ever more tense.  “It can wait.”

“Amy.”  He steps closer to her, so she’s within his reach.  “Tell me.”

She lets out a breath, slowly, looking at him the entire time, as though she’s searching for something.  Whatever it is, she doesn’t quite find it, because her face is…resigned, if anything, when she finally speaks.

“I’m pregnant,” she says.  “And it’s yours.”

There it is.

The bombshell he’d kind of known was coming, five little words that change everything between them irrevocably.  And Amy knows it too, he can tell, the rigidity in her body, the way she’s watching him so warily, dead giveaways.

“I wasn’t going to say anything until I’d made a decision, until I was absolutely _sure_ , but –”

“And if you decided on an abortion, would you have told me?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s not that the idea of Amy aborting his child bothers him, necessarily – it’s her choice after all, and if that’s what she wanted, then that’s what should happen, but… for her to carry that, alone, for it always to be between them without his even knowing…

“So, you’re thinking about it.”

“I don’t know.  It’s probably career suicide – you’ve said it – but at the same time… there has to be a way for me to… I mean, would it really be _so_ horrible?  I don’t know.”

 “Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand what you’re –”

“Whatever you need – whatever you decide.  I’m here.”

“You don’t mean that.  You _can’t_.  You’re talking about the rest of your life, maybe.”

“But I do.”

“Is this some trick – is it meant to be a joke?”

“No.”

“Dan, it’s not funny, don’t – please – don’t mess me –”

“Amy,” he says, taking her head in his hands, looking into her face so she can’t miss the rare occasion of him meaning what he says.  “You’re not alone.  I know what you think, and you’re wrong.  Every fucked up ‘he’s going to drag me to the abortion clinic’ thought you’re having is wrong.”

“You’re just saying this, you’re gonna change your mind, you’ll find something, someone better, so don’t –”

“No,” he says, and rests his hands on her shoulders.  “I’m an asshole, okay?  You know it, I know it, a substantial percentage of the population knows it, but this, us… this is _real_.  You’re _real_.”

Amy nods, and he thinks maybe she’s finally accepting what he’s been trying to tell her, but if so, her reaction…her reaction isn’t quite what he expects.

She _laughs_.

She laughs like she can’t stop, like it’s a reflex, like it’s hurting her.

“You mean,” she finally says, “The one thing I had to do for you to treat me decently, after all this time, was get knocked up?”

“It surprised me too.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Very funny,” he says, and steers her to sit on the couch.  “You’ve been freaking out so much you’ve gone hysterical.”

“Well, it’s not… this isn’t exactly how I would have planned this.”

“I know.  But you’ve got me.”

“You say.”

“I’ve only been trying to get you to date me for, what, nearly _six months_.  Did you think I was joking?”

“Yes.  Or, I don’t know, it was some fucked –”

He kisses her.  Because he can, because he should, and because… whatever she _says_ , she called him.   In that first moment, when she was frightened and panicked and scared… she called him.  She trusts him more than she’ll ever admit, and he’s going to make use of it.

(He’s not going to tell her he’s done the math and realised that there are more pros than cons to having a baby with DC’s most adorable strategist.  That a year of being judged in advance by every single person he met had shown him his reputation was becoming a problem.  That seeing even Jonah leverage a serious, committed relationship for political clout had made him realise that maybe he was missing out.  That a staff love story could provide a serious boost to Selina’s campaign if managed right).  (He’s not going to tell her any of these things because, while they’re all true, none of them are the reason he’s doing this, so they’re not worth talking about).

He pulls her into his lap and wraps an arm around her waist – he wants her to feel surrounded by him, to relax into him, to know he’s got her. 

It works, because she rests her hand on his shoulder, brushing her fingers against the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“How are you feeling with it?”

“You mean like, morning sickness?”

“Well yeah, I guess.”

“I’m fine.  Nothing like that.  I’m just…”  She rubs her eyes quickly.  “Really tired.  I haven’t slept much.”

“Up late worrying about this?”

“Put it this way... I really didn’t think you’d take it this well.  And, when I do sleep, I keep having dreams.”

“Oh really?” He leans in closer.  “What kind of dreams?”

“I don’t know exactly.  I wake up all…”

“Hot and bothered, is it?  That’s it, you’re definitely moving in with me.”

“You’re skipping a few steps there, Dan.”

“How long have we known each other now?  Not to mention you being pregnant with my kid –”

“Please, call it the anti-Christ.”

“You’ve literally just told me that that makes you want to fuck.  And your apartment is the size of a postage stamp, I could probably touch all four walls of your bedroom at once.”

“You’re oversized.”

“And yet… you’re still coming home with me.”

“Well… maybe I am,” Amy says, sounding irritated.  “But don’t expect anything tonight, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“In the morning then.”

“We’ll see.  And I’ll… I’ll think about the other thing.  I suppose I can see how it would be practical.”

“Yeah, and you can see how it means you’ll get all your itches scratched.”

“Maybe,” she says, and there’s a smugness in her tone he could get used to.  “But in the meantime, we’ve got a campaign to plan, so we should really go meet – ”

She’s right of course – babies are one thing, but a presidential election, that takes planning.

Still, as they get in the lift and prepare to meet the others, he can’t stop himself from asking.  “Did you really mope?”

“Fuck off.”

“No, really, did you?”

She rolls her eyes.  “I moped exactly as much for you as you pined for me.”

Dan puts his arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his side while they wait for their uber.  “So, a whole lot then.”

And for the first time in he can’t remember when, she doesn’t snap back, doesn’t dig into her archive of cutting responses, just tucks herself more firmly against him.

“Yeah,” Amy says, “A whole lot.”


End file.
